Tim Gets Hip

I went downstairs at 8 am this morning to find Tim sitting cross legged on the bathroom floor cutting his hair. One second after my inevitable reaction, I wondered (not for the first time) what it must be like to constantly have people yelling your name in exasperation. Every time I yell, I promise myself that I'm going to think of a more constructive, loving way of dealing with the problem the next time. Then he decides to cut his own hair.

Why?

The following conversation is a word-for-word quote. I COULDN'T make this up. No-one could. "Mom, now that I'm seven, it's time for me to do some experiments about things I've always wanted to know, like what does it feel like to cut your own hair." I can't help myself. I say his name again, more gently but still with the inflection of a slide whistle.

"Mom," he says earnestly, "I've always wanted a mullett. I want to reshape my hair because what I have is a backwards mullett." I look at his hair and the undeniable truth of this observation makes me start laughing.

"Tim, why do you want a mullett?" I ask.

He looks at me, mildly surprised by my failure to see the obvious. "Y'know. MacGyver."

Today also I made him an omlette and asked him if he'd like avocado in it.

He paused for a minute. "There are some voices in my head. One is saying, 'She poisoned the avocado,' but all the others are saying, 'It's your mom! You can trust her!' so go ahead, put some on."