In which Ethan gets a haircut, tries sushi for the first time, and Mama makes someone else's kid cry...

Two out of three ain't bad, I guess, right?

This week, after watching my poor long-haired hippie freak child brush his hair out of his face for the eleventy-billionth time, I decided it was time to bite the bullet and make the once-every-five-month journey to the kid's salon down the street. I figured, last time he got his hair cut, he was just starting his transition pre-school class, and next week he starts his first week of actual, real, drop-you-off-and-have-three-hours-to-myself preschool, so perhaps the haircut will be our pre-rite of passage rite of passage. Of course, if I reserve the haircut for just the week before school starts, eventually Ethan will end up looking like a toss-back from a 70's musical, since it won't be long before school only starts once a year.

Anyway...here are some pictures of the big cut...

Nothing says "manly" like a zebra-striped cape and a rhinestone-y pink phone...in LA.

Ethan contemplating how in just moments he will look like an entirely different, much older, child.

Let's try to imagine for a second just how sick and tired this child is of hearing, "say cheeeeese!"

What Ethan would look like if his parents were rock stars...

side-view of what Ethan would look like if his parents were rock stars...

My grown-up looking little boy.

Rocking the race car video game at the salon. Big Boy McGee is always reduced to tears when it's time to part with this machine and can only be coaxed, crying, from the driver's seat, with the promise of a lollipop and balloon. Only thing the boy loves more than a car?

A green lollipop. Thank goodness the boy loves to brush his teeth these days...

mmmmmm, greeeeeeeen.....

Last night, we took mr. clean-cut out to dinner. For years we've been taking him to sushi restaurants and ordering him miso soup and chicken teriyaki while we gorge on roll upon roll of sushi. Last night, the child who puts all other picky eaters to shame actually went after a California roll, on his own, without any prompting by either parent. As a matter of fact, we looked on dubiously, mouths agape, eyes bugging, as he pulled the piece of roll apart and kept shoveling it in his mouth. I apologize I have no pictures of the actual sushi consumption, but please understand I was paralyzed with shock. Apparently the child decided to join the family and get in touch with his inner fat-ass last night. We were so proud.

Preparing to perfect the temperature of the miso soup...

Ethan is more of a stabber when it comes to the chop-sticks than an actual pinch n' grabber.

Exploring the California roll before the first bite...at this point, Husband and I are just giggling at the idea that he might eat one....then he did. I may have dropped the camera.

That bowl of edamame really was bigger than his head...he ate most of it.

washing it all down with some miso soup.

...and for dessert, strawberry ice cream, covered in some sort of pink sugar paste and drizzled with strawberry sauce. Screw the spoon, daddy, I'm going after this one with my hands...

Earlier in the week, Ethan and I joined a couple pre-school moms and their little ones for a play date at Barnes and Nobles. All was going swimmingly--mamas enjoying some coffee, kids giggling and swinging their legs, drinking apple juices or chocolate milks. Chatter, happiness, and a "so nice to make new friends" sort of vibe floating all around. Good times.

Then Ethan and one of the other little boys decided that nothing could be funnier or more approrpiate at that moment than taking off into the rows of bookshelves just off of the cafe. And so off they shot. One after the other, running and chuckling as they zig-zagged through the books. Good times (note the sarcasm).

The other little boy's mom has a made of spun-sugar sweetheart of a little newborn girl who was curled up and sleeping on her lap, so I took it upon myself to go wrangle the beasts boys. I started to give chase and realized quickly I had no idea where they were. The giggles were becoming less distinct and farther away and I started to feel that "ohmygodwherethehellaretheboysIhavetofindthembeforewe
becomeacautionarytaleand/ormovieoftheweek!" panic. Fortunately I stumbled upon them in the romance aisle.

They stopped running, and stood there giggling with each other as I calmly and quietly explained how it was important to stay with the mommies and how scared we were when we didn't know where they were. Ethan, huffing and puffing from all the running and laughing, just smiled at me like "whatever, woman, I am so going to give you a full head of grey hair before first grade." But the other little boy? Burst out into tears. Serious tears. Red cheeked, full-eyeballed, pouring down the face tears, sucking in air in between wails. My blood drained to my toes. OHMYGOD. I made another woman's child cry.

Stay at home moms often equate meeting new stay at home mom friends with dating. You see somebody a few times in the same place--a park, school, whatever, and you initiate conversation. If you get along with the small talk, you set up a play date. You make sure you're dressed nicely, but not too nicely. You're on your best behavior. After the play date, you find yourself wondering if there will be a second play date. Did your kids get along? Did you and the other mom hit it off? If you think they did, does SHE think you did? Take sexual tension out of the scenario, and there's little difference between a first date and a first play date.

So imagine the horror I felt when I made this other woman's kid cry. Talk about blowing it! I swear I didn't yell or scold or even use a mean tone of voice. And there I found myself, begging the kid not to cry, saying, "no, no, honey. It's okay! I'm not mad! You don't have to cry," wondering if his mom could hear him sobbing and mentally making the note: "Never talk to mean-mommy Sarah again." Bad mommy!!!

Fortunately, as I led the boys back to the cafe, the other boy's mom was laughing and thanking me for corralling the runaways. I assured her I hadn't yelled or been cross with the boys and she said, "Oh, please. Feel free." Thank God. But still, making another woman's child cry? So not cool, Sarah.