I hate age 11

Me: Hey, I have an idea. How about we go to the barber shop this afternoon and you can all get haircuts.
Moon: I don't like my hair short.
Me: I know. But you really need it cut.
Moon: I don't want it cut.
Me: Even though you wrestle with it every morning in the bathroom?
Moon: I just put that spray conditioner on and it's fine.
Me: Have you seen a mirror lately?
Moon: I want my hair long.
Me: Moon, I am trying so hard to let you express yourself. I know it's your hair and you should have a say in how it looks. But, ohmygod I hate your hair!
Moon: You just think boys should have short hair.
Me: Not boys. Just you.
Moon: I'm not getting a hair cut.
Me: It looks like you have a dead animal on your head.
Moon: I like it.
Me: You look like Phil Spector.
Moon: I don't want a haircut.
Me: I hate your hair.
Moon: I like it.
Me: Go get me a Q-Tip.
Moon: Why?
Me: So I can clean the wax out of your ears.
Moon: That's not fair.
Me: I don't care. I'm not having the kid with the poofy hair and the dirty ears.


I guess I'm glad there wasn't a machete wielding psychopath at the front door

Peanut: MOM!
Me: WHAT?!
Peanut: MOM!
Me: WHAT?!
Peanut: MOM!
Me: I'm in the shower! I can't hear you!
Peanut, increasing urgency: MOM!
Me: What? Is someone here? Come up here! I can't hear you! Are you okay?!
Peanut: MOM!
Me, getting out of shower, dripping, sticking soaking wet head out bathroom door: WHAT?!
Peanut: Can we go to Target?
Me: No.