I was so smug about how organised I had been about Crazy Hair Day at Boy 4's preschool today. I'd taken him to the $2 shop yesterday and let him go nuts, picking out the horns (labeled Girls Night Out accessory) and some glow-in-the-dark orange hairspray. He could barely go to sleep, he was so excited about the head of super duper orange he'd be sporting the next day.
6 am: "CAN YOU SPRAY MY HAIR NOW? CAN YOU SPRAY MY HAIR NOW?"
I took him outside, wrapped him in an old shirt of mine to protect his clothes from the insane level of orange that would be coming out of that can. So I sprayed. Shook and sprayed, shook and sprayed. NOTHING. Nothing but plain old hairspray, not a speck of orange in sight. He is giving me the gleeful look I've ever seen, anticipating that he would be winning the Craziest Hair Award that day.
He scurries off to the mirror and I just wait for what's coming. 1...2...aaaaah, there it is, the wailing shriek whine that only he knows how to achieve. I'm going to save you from the 20+ minutes of tantrums and negotiations. He finally agreed to me using the green facepaint that's been sitting in the cupboard from last Halloween. He even agreed to let me take a photo, the photo I hoped would appease his utter devastation over the dysfunctional orange hairspray from the "you had ONE job" category.
He let me take the photo. Doesn't mean he had to be happy about it.
Here it is.
Enjoy.
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