Not for the Squeamish

There are times when I find myself asking, "What is wrong with my children?" All 3 of them have cut their hair more than once. And, I know you're all thinking, why don't I just put up the scissors? Well, in a normal house where normal children live that might be sufficient. Not mine. I cannot explain to those of you who don't live near me exactly what level of nuts my kids are. They're precious, and I love them, and they're not those kids that are referred to as brats. In fact, I get compliments all the time about how well my kids behave in restaurants and at church. Random old ladies come up to me at the grocery store and tell me I'm doing a great job. But, we're always dealing with MAJOR wounds and disasters. Evan rode his bike (which he rides quite skillfully without training wheels I might add) down the front porch, and later down the slide. He always has cuts on his face. He has a huge burn where he tried to get on Andy's dad's treadmill and fell. Sounds like a good case for neglect, right? Not so. I know there are others in my family who have the same types of children, and Andy was one himself. You can see my latest disaster pictured. The first picture is Evan after his personally done haircut, crying, not because he was in trouble, but because I said I was gonna shave his head. He, for some reason, was more embarrassed at a shaved head than this retarded haircut. I called Andy (who's been sent to Oklahoma for an ice storm) to tell him, and he said to do a mohawk, which he knew would traumatize Evan, even though it's quite the trend these days. So, I did. I know, all the grandparents are probably flipping out, and I can imagine what we'll get at church. Oh well. I've been saying, "I don't care" about a lot of things for a long time, and I think that's Andy's motto.