A mixed bag day

I gave Benjamin a haircut yesterday because he was one shaggy boy. He tends to get that way in between haircuts because, well, he hates haircuts. He hates when I use scissors to cut his hair because that takes way too long. He hates when I use the clippers to cut his hair because the buzzing and vibrating makes him nervous. He basically just hates having his hair cut.

But, like his daddy, Benjamin also hates doing his hair. He hates getting it wet and combing it down. He especially hates putting gel in his hair. A good day for him is a day that he can roll out of bed and not bother with his hair at all.

Unfortunately—and perplexingly—this means that in order for him to have a run of good days he needs a haircut and haircut days are very bad days. Or, as I tried to impress upon Miriam this evening, bad moments. Most days are really a mixed bag: some good, some bad. And that's fine; you enjoy the good moments and work through the bad moments.

Anyway, I cut Benjamin's hair yesterday and it was certainly a difficult moment for him.

He cried, he screamed, he scrunched his shoulders up to "protect" his ears, he wiggled, he squirmed...

It was difficult for everybody involved. Alexander started crying because he doesn't like it when his siblings are loud (so he went into the front carrier). Zoë was be-bopping around trying to cheer Benjamin up. Benjamin just kept on carrying on no matter what we did to reassure him (I even rubbed the clippers on the palm of my hand (and his) to show him that he was in no danger of having his head chopped off by mistake—all it is is a tickle).

His haircut took probably twice as long as it should have and it's a little crookedy, but it's done.

Until the next time.


Today we cleaned up Zoë and Benjamin's room. It's really amazing how tidy Rachel and Miriam are able to keep their rooms these days (not that they're pristine but, you know, just tidy). Zoë and Benjamin, however, struggle immensely. So even though they've only been roommates for a few weeks, their room was an utter disaster.

I helped them clean up by putting their books back on the shelf (and paring down our collection, considering we have a move coming up sometime...maybe...who knows?) while guiding them through the cleaning process (find all the stuffed animals, now find all the cars, now find all the dirty socks, and so forth). It was a long and gruelling process and we were just about finished when I discovered a cubby under the bunkbed stairs that had been blocked off by a big book on Egyptology.

Really it was a good choice because the cover of the book matched the stain of the bunk bed, so it blended in quite nicely.

When I removed the book, however, I found (unsurprisingly) a stash of junk—mostly Miriam's.

This was not a special stash of stuff she didn't want me to find (like old school work I may have threatened to recycle if it didn't get filed away). No, no. This was a clear case of a stuff-everything-in-here-so-I-can-tell-Mom-I-cleaned-my-room stash. We're talking dirty tissues, Barbie dolls, half-read novels, close to 7.5 pairs of socks, a purple sweater ("Oooh! I've been looking for this!" she said as she put it on), hair elastics, old letters, a frisbee, a bracelet kit, and so forth.

Miriam was a little upset with me for asking her to come in and help sort through all the stuff I'd just pulled out since she'd already cleaned the basement for her chore that day. But this was clearly her mess and I didn't feel like her younger siblings should necessarily be in charge of cleaning it up.

Despite her sniffling, she managed to sort through and clear out her things. She may have even forgiven me for making her do "extra" work. She even voluntarily tidied up the living room before scripture study and enlisted her siblings in folding a basket of laundry. Clearly she's a good sport.

I just won't tell her (yet) that I saw a junk monster lurking behind the reading chair in her bedroom...