I’m sitting on the couch, just finished plucking my eyebrows and feel compelled to write about it on my blog. I had a great idea to use Peter’s headlamp, which he made fun of, but actually worked quite well. Since I’ve had kids, one of the little luxuries I’ve allowed myself is to get my eyebrows waxed. So today when we went to get our hair cuts, I was fully expecting to get the wax. But there was a small wax incident.

Apparently William was trying to help. He really had good intentions, but all of a sudden we heard him crying hysterically and I knew something was really wrong. He tried to wheel the wax cart down to us, but of course didn’t unplug the wax first. Then he tried to “catch” the wax with his stomach, but didn’t succeed in that either. He was totally fine, just scared. But there was wax everywhere. Everywhere. Did I mention it was everywhere? He had to step out of his shoes because they were waxed to the floor. I had to take all of his other clothes off of him quickly so it didn’t get on his skin. So there he stood in his underwear and socks, surrounded by wax and we could only just stare. It was an incredible, sticky mess. Thankfully Peter had gone with me and he is quicker on his feet than I am (I tend to “not compute” and just stand there dumbfounded). He got the ice scraper from the car and we all started chipping away at it and spraying Goo Gone galore. My great friend Michelle is the one who cuts our hair and I was so thankful for her today. She was totally gracious about the whole thing. Otherwise, I think I may have just fled the scene and prayed I never saw her again. By the way, I think wax just may be the stickiest thing in the world. And it was everywhere. Kate kept pointing and saying, “Very sticky.” William just kept telling us how sorry he was. Poor kid. He’s in some kind of growth spurt and his body is having a hard time catching up with his brain. We’ve had a lot of practice with patience lately. There have been spills, breaks, falls, and accidents. Let’s hope this was the climax for awhile. It’s been like a prelude to adolescence. We’ve nicknamed him (not to his face) “The Bull”.

And so, I pluck. Because there was no wax left. Yet it was everywhere. Oh, William.