Last night I went over to my parents house to attempt a feat that I was not looking forward to at all. There was a good reason for this, as it totally exhausted, frustrated, and wore out every one of us there.

But, I am happy to report, that with three adults, smarties, fruit snacks, and a train video (and lots of screaming, crying, and kleenexes), we accomplished the feat...of giving my one year old a haircut.

Now don't jump to the conclusion that I'm completely crazy just yet. I tried my best to get him to somebody who actually went to school to know how to do this insane job of cutting hair. Her first available was next week on Tuesday. I said, sure, that would be great - and then I went to my calendar and realized that I had booked something else on that very same day. The next available appointment was over two weeks away.

Normally I would just suck it up and wait, but he was already way past due. During every meal we have yogurt-covered, applesauce-filled grimy little hands that are magnetically attracted to his beautiful head of dark, thick hair. If I didn't dislike the army look so much, this boy would have had one of those cuts long ago.

I knew giving him a haircut would be difficult, because the last three haircuts have gotten progressively worse, even with someone who knows what they are doing. That is why I graciously handed the scissors to my dear mom last night. She was honored - until she realized what she was up against.

So, considering that he now screams, cries, and throws himself backwards every time he sees a scissors, we will not be returning to the lady who has the fancy certificate on her wall. We will go straight for the candy and movies at Salon Grandma.