Murder and a haircut. Two bits.

Maybe this makes me sound like a know-it-all, but I know what really caused Sweeney Todd to murder. It wasn't the sorrow for the hardships of his life, the loss of his wife and daughter. It wasn't because he was seeking revenge for wrongs committed against him . . .

Nope. None of that. It was because he had to cut the hair of children like my son Jonah. It drove him mad I tell you! And I'm just a step behind!

You'd think I really was trying to murder the boy by the way he carries on, fusses, cries, whines, and fights. He hates that he gets hair on himself and it's itchy. He hates to have it brushed off. He hates the sound of the buzzer. He hates the feel of the scissors cutting his hair. He hates standing still so long. He hates that he can't seem to remember keep his mouth closed and he gets hair on his tongue. He hates that (because he's being so squirmy) I clip one spot (usually right when I'm one clip away from being done) too close and thus have to cut the rest of it shorter to match the bald spot. He hates to have the vacuum suck the hair off his body. But he hates to have it wash away in the tub because it pools around his feet. He hates that after all of the trouble I refuse to reward him with a treat. He hates everything about it.

But when it's done, he's pleased with the results. He thinks he looks smokin'. He says, "that wasn't so bad," and trots off to play. Leaving me with a bathroom that looks like I just shaved a cat. Water from the bath all over the floor, making the hair stick and become un-vacuumable. Hair all over me and no opportunity to take a shower myself to clean it off since the ordeal took so long it is now time to rush him off to school. Oh, and a new tic below my left eye.

No wonder the new style for boys is long hair. I think I'm going to change Jonah's name to Samson. I'm giving up being Delilah. More power to you Sweeney Todd! I may join you soon.