I Want to Go Home

In order to spend Friday night out on the lake with one of my buddies, I was forced to agree to take Preston to get his haircut Saturday morning. I say forced....that's not really accurate because I've taken him the last two or three times anyway, but I needed to say it that way to make it seem like I actually sacrificed in order to have some fun.

So, Friday night I went out to the lake, had some brats and some frosty beverages and enjoyed some "down" time just relaxing on the lake. It was so peaceful. A vast contrast to what I was about to experience the next morning.....maybe I shouldn't have made that agreement......

Saturday morning rolled around and like every Saturday, no, more like every day, I did not want to get out of the bed. But seeing as how I had sold my soul to the devil the night before, I knew I had to get up and get the little one to the haircut place.

We packed up and headed out. And this time I made sure I had a diaper (or two) and some wipes seeing as how the little man had pooped in his diaper the last two times I had him there....when I didn't have any "necessities" to help out!

Flashback....the last time we were there, a pungent smell permeated the air....thinking it HAD TO BE someone else's kid, I left well enough alone....only to find out, it was MY kid....so, I tried to be savvy and thought I could take him in to the restroom and clean him up -- thinking maybe it would be a nice, solid present that I could dump and then put the diaper back on...just for the time being -- but was greeted by a runny mess....but that was a while ago and I don't want to go back there...because even just by typing this little blurb, I will no have nightmares for the rest of this week.

So, back to Saturday. On the way there, my little buddy was telling me how he wanted to play with the train table when we got there - the place we go has a play room in the back with a nice train set, a tv, and a toy box so it's really pretty cool.

We get to the haircut place - and I tried to call ahead because you USED to be able to do that - only to find out that wasn't an option anymore. So, we got there around 9:40...it opened at 9:30....and there had to be 10 kids there. Great. "This is going to be fun," I though to myself....and boy was it ever.

After snaking our way through the rugrats...I mean, kids...we found ourselves in the back room with the train table. There were only 3-4 kids back there at the time. Preston goes over to the toy box (because the other kids were at the train table....and seeing as how he takes after me, he's shy around other people...) and starts pulling out toys.

"Look, Daddy. I have a horse!"

I look and he's holding a pink My Little Pony....ugh....

Well, I can deal with that (for now) but what I was about to experience for the next 15 minutes straight, well, let's just say I was ready to pull my hair out.

I was sitting on the small chairs...you know, the ones you see in the daycare lunch rooms - the ones that even 3 yr olds seem too big to be sitting in? Yeah, my big self...Mr Bellyman....was sitting in one of those.

The next thing I know, I look up and a mom comes in with her two kids - a little girl about 18 months old and a little boy, probably 4 or 5 years old. I noticed this mom come in because there were two other dads in there with me who were talking to kids nonstop who suddendly stopped talking. When I looked up, I saw why - I must admit, this was a very attractive lady.

So, I'm thinking to myself, "Nice. A change of scenery from whatever cartoon that's playing and also my son playing with little ponies....."

Boy was I wrong! I would have rather looked at Susan Boyle for a solid hour instead of listening to what I had to listen to.....

The lady sits next to me and her son, 4 or 5 years old....is laying in her lap, crying non-stop...."I want to go home."

After 2 minutes of hearing that, I'm thinking, "No kid...I want to go home!"

Now don't get me wrong....Preston's not a perfect child. He has his outbursts. But I try my best to remove him from the situation when that happens. Not this pretty lady. She felt that the louder he would cry, the louder she needed to be with a response.

"No one else is crying. It's just a haircut. You're acting like a baby. Be quiet. HUSH."

And then my favorite....."Do I need to call your dad?" To which the response was, "No."

Excuse me.....? "Do I need to call your dad?" Are you kidding me? The threat of calling the dad is going to shut this kid up.....? I don't think so.

And I was right - no luck.....

This carried on for another 10 or so minutes. Thinking he may calm down by playing with something, I offered a small firetruck - afterall, the kid at one point during his meltdown said, "I want that firetruck."

Nope. You would have thought I offered the kid a joint the way the mom looked at me.....

Then, I zoned out because one of the kids who was actually getting his hair cut started crying. I looked out there and saw the hair cutting lady hunched over beside the little boy and I thought, "Great. She just cut that kid's ear off. This noisemaker in here is going to see that and that's going to make things so much better.....oh man!"

But she didn't cut his ear - apparently the kid just didn't like the clippers or the noise or something.

The next thing I knew, I was snapped back into reality as one of the haircutting people came in and said, "Preston?"

Without missing I beat, I literally JUMPED out of my seat and said, "YES! That's us....!"

I probably got a few looks as I ran out of the room without my son.....