People of the Internet: This is All YOUR Fault

Okay people. Why did no one warn me about this? (Translation: "Why was I so dumb?! Talk about mom-of-the-year award for sure.")

What is this totally awesome mom moment of mine? Well remember when I lamented the loss of Rhett's naps? Right. It was just last week. Last Monday he still napped after a morning at the bounce place. On Wednesday he napped because we spent the morning with friends at a playground. But on Friday, after a quiet morning in the house wherein we practiced our cutting skills by cutting out Valentine's Day hearts, I thought I'd give "quiet time" a go. I was ready. I prepped the library so Rhett could be in there (giving Ollie the crib to nap). I stocked it with coloring books, crayons, scissors, and more hearts. I cleared the plethora of stuffed animals from the bean bag chair so he could read to his heart's content. I told you: I was ready.

It started out beautifully. He was quiet for about an hour when I noticed he was playing with the door handle. He told me he needed to go to the bathroom, so I opened the door to help. That's when I see it. Now it's your turn. What is that? (Take a guess. Go on. I've given you all the clues you need.)




At first I couldn't tell what it was. Then I thought it was down from the couch cushions except that we have no couches in there. Then I thought it was the stuffing from the bean bag chair except that the stuffing is more like packing peanuts and actually bean-shaped. When I finally found my voice, I said (obviously), "What. Is. This??" Rhett then proceeded to tell me how he cut his stuffed animals' hair. That's right. He gave them all haircuts. Oh wait, he corrected me. "Not all of them, Mom." He spared the bears brought from Japan by my father in 1985--phew. But the others weren't so lucky. I buckled over, half laughing, half crying. Because of my confusing response, Rhett didn't know what to do. When I left and came back with the camera, I'm pretty sure he knew he wasn't going to spend all afternoon in time out.

Of course I left it for Chuck to find. It was just too awesome. You'll be happy to know that we gave him a strict lecture about not cutting his stuffed animals' hair...nor his own, nor anything that isn't paper. Who thought these things needed to be said?!

I guess I should be grateful he didn't cut his own hair, or even worse, his own finger or some other appendage. I mean, what kind of mom leaves a three-year-old alone with scissors?! Not this one, I tell you. Not again anyway. Let this be your lesson, friends. Although I'm pretty sure you're all smart enough to not need a lesson from me on this topic. Let's be honest. This was "Mom 101." Not even. This was "Mom 99: Remedial Parenting." I'm hoping I can squeak by with a D after this debacle.