Last night, I gave all of the boys haircuts. We like to call it The Manson Family Supercuts. It never really goes smoothly, but there is no way I'm carting so many male spawn to a barber shop and paying $15 each when I can do it myself with some rope, tranquilizing darts, and dog clippers.
I've been doing this for nearly six years now, so we have it down to a science. I move the ottoman. I pull out the haircut stool. I get the clippers (no, they're not really dog clippers). The boys strip down to underwear so there isn't hair all over the laundry. One at a time, they step up to the stool and get buzzed. The older boys always like to give me specific instructions of how they'd like it, and I always agree and nod enthusiastically, but I use the same formula every time: number one on the sides faded up to a number four on top, and a zero around the edges.
Last night, everyone was tired, and the kids started acting antsy and whiny. Anyone who says that all children are precious has never heard our kids whining in unison. It makes you want to gouge out your eardrums with toothpicks and then huff Pledge until you pass out.
I decided it was time for a distraction. The following conversation ensued.
Me: "Ok guys, I've got a bag of M&Ms in the pantry. Whoever guesses the animal I'm thinking of wins it. Your only hint is that it starts with an "O" sound." (Note to reader: SHORT O, like the O in octopus.)
Me: "No. But I'm impressed."
Paul: "ASS with an English accent!!!"
Me: "The answer was ox, but you win the prize for most creativity."