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The Snip Heard Round the World

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Guys, the BEST thing about being a mom of boys, hands down, is taking them to the barbershop. Now, I know there are probably many of you who do the snip-snip yourself at home. All I have to say is, “YOU WIN!”

Come to think of it, I should write another book titled “Mom’s Not Cuttin’ Your Hair.” Cuz this mom surely ain’t doin’ it.

I would consider myself a fairly competent “Jack of all trades,” but I know my limitations. I barely know how to fix my own hair, much less lay scissors to another human’s head. One time, when I was in high school, my brother let me attempt to cut his hair with the clippers. All I’m going to say is: sheep have looked better after half their coat is lying on the ground.

Good thing that particular brother is neither vain nor given to fits of rage. Sorry, Will. I obviously learned my lesson. Again… I now know my limitations.

So, yes, we work the every-2-months-or-so haircuts into the family budget. This self-proclaimed Jack-of-all-trades will leave hair cutting to our favorite barbershop, Barbershop Jack… and now I do, in fact, know Jack about hair. I found a GREAT barber and they educated me on the nuances of boy-shearing.

And hair mowing day is my favorite day ever.

My three wild little things have been going ever since they were tiny. The barbers have been patient and kind and even when they screamed, just handed them more lollipops. When we walk in, they head straight for the lollipop bowl and I just look the other way– I don’t know what sort of crimes are being committed and what kind of sugar is being consumed. It’s kind of like the grandparents’ house. I’m in such a good mood that nothing can destroy it. Not even ridiculous sugared-up boys.

They hop up in the chair with their little fuzzy, hair-covered lollipops and they ask if the barber will turn on “Sponge Bob Square Pants.” The barber looks at me. Me: “Sure. Go right ahead. I’ll allow it.”

The barbers and I will catch up on their lives and families, because you know…. little boys watching Spongebob are not the most loquacious conversationalists.

By this time, the barbers all know how I like their hair. Sammy bucked the system the last time and told me he wanted his head shaved just like Josh’s. Josh’s hair is particularly wiry and looks fine cut really close. Sammy… just looks weird. BUUUT… I decided it was just one of those things I needed to let him do. And so he did it. And he really liked it. But about a week ago, he decided he wanted to be able to “style” his hair. So the next time, he declared he was going to leave it long. My mama’s heart breathed a sigh of relief.

Barbershop Jack is an oasis in my life. They have cold drinks in the fridge for the hot, hot AZ summers. Comfy couches and lots of reading material for both kids and adults. It has the feel of a local hometown barber shop, but in the middle of busy Phoenix, AZ.

They even have a female barber who has a background in salon hair. I’ve been known to sit myself down while the boys are getting theirs cut and get a quick trim. And I usually have a baby sitting on my lap. Not exactly a nice and relaxing day at the spa, but it gets the job done and there will be plenty of spa time available when my babies are older.

The. Very. Best. Thing is when the boys get out of the chair. It’s my one shot at perfection. My one shot at “no-hair-out-of-place-preciousness” that somehow erases all of the insane/stupid things they did that week. I clap my hands and squeal and yell “YOU ARE SO HANDSOME” uncontrollably, practically crying with joy. The barbershop is used to it and they just tip their hat waiting for the slobbery sappy mom to simmer down and pay the bill.

The other day, I was in the kitchen fixing dinner and helping Sammy with his homework at the kitchen table. I sent the other two upstairs to take showers. I thought to myself, “It’s mighty quiet up there.” And based on my experience, I should have gone to check. But based on my tiredness, I let it be.

The photo attached to this post is the result of “letting it be.”

Needless to say, I let them go to school like that the next day. I asked Josh if many people commented. He said, “Oh, about four…” and shrugged his shoulders. And then life happened and I forgot to take them to get it fixed. TJ will pretty much have to have his luxurious hair shaved off in order to right the wrongs.

And that is really the only reason I am mad. TJ will shatter my barbershop zen because his head will look like the surface of a baby’s bottom.

But I have faith in you, Don and all the crew at Barbershop Jack. You are miracle workers. I’m just going to grab my Dr. Pepper, lean back on the couch and zone out to Spongebob. Because a nice afternoon at the barbershop covers a multitude of sins.

#boymom #momofboys #cuthisownhair #barbershopjack #haircuttime #letsfixthis #hairdisaster #momofboys💙  #momofboys #momofboyslife #momofboysrock #barbersrule #rockstarbarbers #rockstarbarbershop #ilovemybarber 

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The Great Easter Hug Hunt

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As far as sporting events go, Easter is the Superbowl for those of us who follow Jesus. It’s a big deal. We get to celebrate THE REASON we exist. The reason we get up every morning. The Person who loved us first. Man, it is just awesome! And if you don’t celebrate, thank you for supporting those of us who do. Just know, the roster isn’t full yet and the winning team could always use a few more players… in case you’re looking for the greatest coach to ever play the game.

It will never cease to be special to me, but this year it was missing some of the magic… like every single holiday of the pandemic. Part of it is simply a construct of having four kids under eight with a baby. Every little task just seems monumental, especially the thought of trying to do a special weekend or a special dinner. Or a special… anything.

And because of viral concerns, my family hasn’t gathered in a year. I know you are all with me on this. We’ve seen bits and pieces of family, but the big fun holiday gatherings where there are tons of arms to pick up the babies… aren’t happening. No meeting on the field… everyone sits in their own locker rooms… and plays football over zoom.

So we found ourselves on Easter weekend tired to the bone like every other weekend. Dave and I talked briefly about how we both basically do shift work. He shifts in the morning from about 6AM-9PM then sleeps. I’m up from about 7AM-midnight doing all the things. All. The. Things. Janitor, concessions, referee, back-of-house sales, finance and corporate. Everything. And when all of those things are done… suit up and play the game of your life.

Hiding Easter eggs and making pretty candy baskets were not at the top of my fun list of things to do. Screw you, you dumb bunny. Now you make me stay up even later. I was so tired I didn’t even want to picture my kids’ faces when they saw the Easter Basket. Bunny and Santa… you’d better hide because there’s one pissed off mom who does NOT need one more thing to do.

That was tired Sara talking to myself as I trudged up the stairs to try and wrangle the crew in bed. I sat in my room and played with Rachel putting off the inevitable… the boy tribe.

But before I could enter the boy locker room, Josh came peeling into our room crying his eyes out. It was not an “emergency room” cry… it was a “somebody hurt my feelings and I’m going to make sure everyone knows” cry.

In between gulps of ugly-cry fit he managed to tell us that Sammy had slapped him hard. On the face. I looked for a hand print but I was darkly disappointed that I didn’t see one. Definitely “Illegal Use of the Hands.”

I asked him why Sam did it and Josh replied he didn’t know. I can usually tell if Josh was instigating, but he seemed too shocked and broken this time.

Time to suit up and get on my gear. I closed my eyes and sighed, breathed a prayer and went to confront Sammy. When I got in the room he stood there with the guilty eyes. In Sam’s case, they’re the cutest expression his eyes make so it’s not good for the referee who finds it hard to resist such sway.

“Sam… why did you slap your brother really hard?”

He wandered around with some bizarre explanations until I brought him back to the field. “So what you’re saying is that ‘You slapped him because it was fun and you felt like it.'”

He muttered some affirmatives and I had to start in on the mom explanation of “Illegal use of the hands or you’ll incur a penalty. More blah blah blah of the mom pep talk. You guys know. You do it all the time. I ended with “You owe your brother an apology.”

I brought Josh in the room and said, “Josh, tell Sammy how that slap made you feel.” So he did that and I could see Sammy’s eyes go a little watery and back and forth between anger and hurt.

Sammy copped up to a pretty sincere apology. Josh still had angry frown and stone face. Josh could make an entire career of being butt-hurt and even have time for a side hustle of selling drama and holding grudges.

“Josh, what do you say to Sammy? Do you forgive him?”

Josh: “No.”

I leaned in really close to Josh’s ear and whispered, “I can tell he really means it.”

I stood up. I saw both faces soften in the slightest.

Josh: “OK, I forgive you.”

I was trying very VERY hard not to be triumphant. I was close enough, I decided to go for the two point conversion. “OK guys, why don’t you give each other a hug.”

At the same time they both looked at each other and said, “No.”

Me: “OK, OK, I can respect that. Maybe that can come later.”

Messy.

Messy, messy, messy forgiveness. But headed down that road, nonetheless. I didn’t care so much about the words and actions, I was studying their hearts like a player watches the game plan on the chalk board.

I saw glimmers of progress. And that was good for that night.

As I finally laid my weary head down that night after making the baskets and eggs and treats, I couldn’t help but think of Jesus on that awful night. How his mother had to watch him be slapped and brutalized and spit upon. And as we explained to our kids, Jesus chose it. He chose every bit of it for us. He knew that he had to lose in order to win… and did it all because He loves us. Endured the most hellish “game” ever imaginable because he knew our souls hung in the balance.

Jesus isn’t into neat and tidy forgiveness. He’ll suit up and meet us on our home field turf because he loves us that much. And he also loves us too much to watch us try to keep scoring touchdowns on our own end zone. If we stay down after a hard tackle, He will pick us up, dust us off and turn us toward victory.

This whole last year, I seemed to be lying flat on my back with the wind knocked out of me… gasping for breath and sleep and whatever else while the other tiny little football players ran around me and laughed. But I do know this: I can’t be helped up by a loving hand when I’m already standing. E’en so, Lord Jesus, quickly come. Sorry not sorry for the flagrant running football analogy. I am, after all, a mom of little boys.

#superbowlsunday #heisrisen #forgiveyourbrother #momlifewins #boymom #boymomadventures #boymomsrock #boymoms #boymomforlife #helives #helivesinme #upfromthegravehearose #easter2021 #easter2021🐣🐇 #forgivenessisfreedom #forgivenessofsins #reconciliation #reconciliationday #truthandreconciliation

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Easter Egg Faux Pas

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As we were driving to school this morning, Joshua asked: “Mom, can we do an Easter Egg hunt this year?”

Me: “I’m not sure honey. I’m not sure if any of the places that usually put on Easter Egg hunts will be doing it this year because of the virus.”

Josh: “Well, could we maybe have one at the house?”

Me: “Oh sure Josh- no problem at all! We can hide the eggs all over the neighborhood if you want.”

Josh: “What to you mean, ‘We?’ I thought the Easter Bunny hid them?”

Me: “Um.”

Me: “Well…”

Me: “I could give the Easter Bunny a call and see if he’d hide them outside for you guys.”

Josh: “Mom, it’s a bunny. It doesn’t talk on the phone.”

And there you have it folks. I’m an idiot. And my children one-upped me once again. I’m glad you’re comin’ Lord, Jesus, this Easter because the Easter Bunny has stopped taking my calls.

#easterbunny🐰  #heisrisen✝️  #heisrisen #heisrisenindeed #eastermorning #easteregghunt #easteregghunt2021 #storytimes #storytime #storytimefun #goodfriday🙏

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When Mom Hands You Lemons

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I’m in the kitchen helping Josh refine the “art” of lemon squeezing.
 
I’ve talked before of how hard it is for me to do anything with the boys in the kitchen. So many appliances and stools and ways for them to go straight to the ER.
 
Me: “Josh, here’s how you do it. Listen with your ears first, then you try.”
 
Him: “I KNOW Mom, I KNOW!”
 
Me: “If you have the knowledge, then why are you doing it in a sloppy and haphazard fashion?”
 
Him: “I have a lot on my mind, mom.”
 
I CANNOT argue with that. He is, after all, my son.
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The Gross Zone

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I was talking to a friend the other day about a favorite topic among boy moms… the gas boys pass.

And they seem to pass a lot.

“But hold on, Lin. Humans pass a lot of gas. Girls pass a lot of gas.”

You are correct. Let me not steer us wrong. I am assuming that both genders pass the same amount of gas. There is nothing in our chromosomal makeup that would preclude one gender from passing more gas than another.

That is purely up to genetics and probably more influential, the food we consume.

The difference is, boys tend to call attention to it. Trumpet it from the mountaintops. And think it’s hilarious. There are exceptions, of course on both sides, but on a whole, boys are to farts as girls are to… nothing. I simply cannot finish the analogy.

From a female perspective, boys are so very gross. I grew up with three brothers and I spent my entire childhood rolling my eyes at the antics: the absurdly gross things they did.

And now, I have three boys myself and I am in the gross zone once again. I have the nose of a bloodhound for sniffing out gas and pride myself in smelling it the moment it happens. Between the booger-picking, the dirt-rolling, the bug-smashing and puddle-jumping, my eyes are stuck in the up position, beseeching Heaven for commiseration.

Except, God made them. And He loves that about them. He loves the dirt and the freedom and restlessness… all the things He put into their little bodies. Their mom, however, wants to see them freshly bathed with clean ears and noses wiped.

Listen closely dear readers, for what I’m about to tell you has never been breathed before. It is too horrible. If you have a weak stomach or you are prone to nausea, leave now. This article is finished for you right here.

Those of you who are now reading these words, proceed with caution at your own risk. What you are about to read is a train wreck and you will not be able to look away.

It was an ordinary day where two of the three boys were getting ready for school. TJ was a baby, all of 1.5 years. He had probably just learned to walk and was making good use of those skills.

I was downstairs probably doing fifty things at one time including but not limited to: making lunches, making breakfast, feeding the dogs, making coffee and paying bills.

It was relatively quiet and I heard Sam start screaming. It was a strange scream that sounded like he had been hurt. Or seen a ghost. It was a scream of horrification.

I dropped what I was doing and ran upstairs, skipping stairs in between.

I heard the screaming from the bathroom: I ducked through one bedroom and ran to the bathroom and stopped dead in my tracks.

I tried to take in everything I was seeing but it was too awful.

TJ was standing by Sam who was sitting backward on the toilet. TJs hands were covered in poop. He had smeared said poop all over Sam’s back.

There was poop on the floor and TJ had stepped in it. Sam was screaming in horror. Even though he was only 3.5 at the time, he knew that just wasn’t right.

I started screaming… an animalistic high-pitched squeal. Dave came running in from our bedroom. He saw the scene. He started screaming.

“What do we do oh my gosh where do we start,” were the words tumbling out of both of our mouths. I had been there longer so I took control.

“You grab TJs wrists so he can’t touch anything else! Take him to our bathroom and don’t let his feet touch the ground because he has poop on the bottom of his feet. Wipe him off then sanitize him in the shower! I’ll take care of Sammy and the mess in here!”

We sprang into action like a Nascar pit crew. After all, changing a tire certainly can’t be more difficult than this.

Dave managed to get TJ in the bathroom and wipe him down before he touched anything and I cleaned up Sammy and the bathroom explosion.

Afterward, we looked at each other. We look at each other a lot this way. The look contained so many words.

“I see you.”

“That was disgusting.”

“I’m tired.”

“No one would believe this is real.”

This is the same man who still giggles at farts. But at least he puts up a good front for the boys. His glances after each incident help me through the cleanup and get me through the day.

There is a new outrageous “gross” incident or three every day in this house, but I’d rather that than constantly worrying and chasing after with hand sanitizer and telling them not to get dirty. Because dirt is the outer shell of creativity.

One of these days, little sister and I will have a running commentary on the gross boys and I will teach her the fine art of rolling my eyes. And she will teach me how to giggle at the farts.

#boysaregross #momofthreeboys #momofboyslife #momofboysrock #raisingboys #booksforboys

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