Okay, so I’m a single mom with two elementary-aged kids desperate to save a buck! There’s no way I’m doing the things my parents did to save money, although their intentions were good. I would hate to contribute to scarring my children; however I’m not so sure I’ve succeeded.
As I said, I’m trying to save money so the first thing I did, as cooking has never been my strongest suit, was trying to invent something tasty that the kids just couldn’t quite talking about! I’m pretty sure I did that, although the conversation about my homemade dumplings placed in chicken noodle soup was left sitting in the bottom of each bowl. My son, being well-mannered as he is, gave me a sympathetic pat on the back after dumping his bowl as if I’d just lost the Super Bowl. “I know you tried, Mom,” he said, “and I appreciate that.”
I think that’s about the nicest insult I’ve ever had, really. So I gave him a hug, thanked him for being a sport, and chased up to the stairway where he made a desperate dash for the computer. I think he may have been afraid of the dessert!
After dinner I thought I’d give cutting my hair a shot. I usually cut my own hair–it’s no big deal, but I’ve been having some issues with my right arm. I think I really pulled a muscle hard, or something, but I couldn’t raise it above my ear. Anyway, my hair had grown out quite a big over the past few months, waiting for that stupid muscle to get back in the game.
I can tell you’re on pins and needles about how I had to knock on my neighbor’s door to have her shave my head bald in order to even it up, right? Wrong! I’m not that weird! In fact, the cutting of the hair went rather well, aside from the fact that it took me nearly an hour with my shears, clippers, and hand-held mirror. The clean-up posed a different story.
There I was, standing with hair stuck to the bottoms of my feet, afraid to venture into the rest of the house due to tracking, when I realized I had forgotten the vacuum. Sticking my head out my door I made it my son’s issue and he quickly retrieved the vacuum, bringing it to my door. I plugged it in and attempted to hurry since I’d taken so darned long, and began to vacuum my floor. Unfortunately, I encountered a problem when instead of using the hose to suck up the hair, I tried using the brushes on the front. My hair was a little too long I decided when it stopped turning around. Immediately, I flipped the vacuum over to commence the surgery and found the hair tangled around the bristles. Grabbing the scissors off the counter I began clipping the hair from the hungry beast. I’m certain sitting on the floor naked with scissors in one hand and the vacuum tipped over one leg was quite the sight! Thank goodness no one needs therapy!
Instead, my son began to bellow from the other room as if he’d been wounded by some expert swordsman who knew how to wound painfully, without mortal repercussions. Standing, with cut hair adorning my moist buttocks, I threw my robe on and dashed to the rescue! There was my nine-year-old, lying on his back with his fingers pinching his nose with one hand and the other pressing just above his mouth. With a voice sounding like Charlie Brown’s schoolteacher, he replied, “I have a bloody nose!” The tears in his eyes let me know how startled he was, so I got him a cloth, made sure he was okay, and zipped back to my restroom to finish my feat.
There was my assailant, lying on the bathroom floor, taunting me. This time, I was destined to win. With a couple of swift cuts, I sliced through the hair, yanked it off the roller, and threw it into the garbage. I scooped up the rest and it followed to the receptacle before I unleashed the fury of the vacuum hose! “Ha-ha-ha-ha!” I laughed, “I refuse to allow this incident to put me in a foul mood!” And then I muttered over and over how happy I was.
When I finished with my hair, I returned to my son’s room (with my robe on) and asked him what he thought. I did a pirouette to show him the full view of my hair. He once again offered a comment which I’m unsure how to take. “Wow,” he said, “You look like Jinx, from James Bond… except you’re really white.”
I have a bad habit of reading into things, but I’m certain he wasn’t telling me I was as shapely as Halle Berry… On the way back to my room, a flash of memory zipped back to me as if I were watching “Die Another Day” with Cameron again. Remember the scene where James Bond encounters her for the first time–slow motion, orange bikini, slicking her hair back as she strutted up the beach? Sure you do! At that point in the movie, I vaguely recall my son’s comment on what a shame it was to have such a beautiful woman with man’s hair. Hmmmm, compliment? I don’t think so!
Despite my son’s interesting way of “complimenting” my cooking and hair-cutting skills, I have to admit… Saving money–there’s got to be a better way! Do you have any suggestions?