I just finished dyeing my hair, y'all. Yes. I did it myself. It probably looks like crap because I didn't let a stylist do it, but all my money lately has been thrown into the endless cauldron of need called "children." It turned out way darker than I intended, but at least the grays are gone. I swear I'm getting them at an irritatingly rapid pace lately. Like the Gray Hair Fairy is just visiting me overnight. And since each one so far has been the crinkly texture of a pube, I'm not too optimistic about how my head's gonna look when I stop coloring and just let it happen.
... If I let it happen.
I think I'm getting so many grays because I have, like, four little boys. And as though that in itself weren't enough, Corbin is going through the "terrible twos." Problem is ... he won't actually be two until June. I know I have always said that three is the new two when it comes to attitude, but that was before I birthed this strong-willed, temperamental mini-dictator.
He's sooooo ridiculously sweet though, enough to (almost) make up for the volume of frustrating behaviors he exhibits on the daily. He reminds me of those Sour Patch Kids commercials - you ever seen those? They sum him up pretty well. His sweetness is probably just a biological mechanism to prevent me from choking him out.
He's also in the beginning stages of potty training, which is awesome.*
*And by "awesome" I mean "good Lord, I have to go through this again?"
The other day, I thought he was innocently playing in the bedroom. About two minutes before I had to walk out the door to pick Coby up from preschool, I went to get Corbin - but he had closed the door. And locked it. And remember this key? It was locked in with him.
I started to panic with the realization that my toddler was alone in my room, with full access to my bathroom, and I was stuck on the other side of the door. But miracle of miracles: when I said sweetly, "Corbin? Unlock the door, please," he actually complied and was able to unlock the door by himself.
My relief was short-lived, though, because I realized that the reason he had locked himself into the bedroom was to take a dump in his diaper. Which I now had to change. Literally two minutes before Coby would be waiting in the lobby of the school, brokenhearted because his mommy wasn't there to pick him up.
I got it done, though, and I actually wasn't the last parent at preschool pickup that day. So there's that.
He's also into whipping his diaper off as soon as he poops in it. Good times.
Possibly another contributing factor to my granny-hair is that I'm forced to wipe with toilet paper that looks like this:
Yeah. Seriously. Every single roll. I went under the sink to grab a new one the other day and I was like, WTF.
Watch the video clip below and I think you'll see why. (Fast-forward a couple seconds because at the first he's just kind of sitting there but I'm too lazy to edit.)
( ... Okay, so I just couldn't figure out how to crop the video. Whatever.)
Don't take your smooth, un-gnawed toilet paper for granted, folks. Or your full boxes of Kleenex, for that matter.
I think I ought to just start buying hair dye in bulk ... along with my paper products.
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