June 2013: Week 3

Mid-June at Chez Hillier began with a haircut - or half a hair cut in James' case. Even having Rob there couldn't stop the Greek Tragedy that unfolded before us.

Laurie, our wonderfully patient and talented hairdresser comes to our house every six weeks to give us all a cut and trim; everyone except Rob.

No. Rob's loyalties lie with his barber of 14 years. The man who makes more jokes about his wife and mother-in-law than Les Dawson and Bob Monkhouse put together. He uses all of the cliches to describe me, 'The other 'alf'; 'the ball and chain' and my favourite, 'the trouble n strife'. I take no offence at this last one as this piece of Cockney rhyming slang quite literally applies to me, at times, in a domestic and professional capacity. 

However, I do take issue when Rob's barber says, "Is the trouble n strife at home with the bin lids?". Now Sweeney Todd, you can call me what you want but associating my children with refuse disposal is one step too far. I know he is the one armed with sharp blades but I pack a mean punch!

Mind you, on our wedding day 5 years ago, at least the barber gave Rob a free haircut; I can see his strapline now, Come to the barbers for 9 years and get 1 haircut free! Like I said, Rob is a very loyal person and that's why we're married.

However, this admirable quality of loyalty was of no importance to me 2 months ago. To summarise, I was trying to console James whilst I was in the middle of having my hair cut. This is no mean feat I can tell you. Trying to calm a strong and feisty one year old whilst there are scissors, hair products and blow-driers about, behind a cloud of crocodile clips that framed my sodden head, was one of the more challenging episodes I have experienced as a mother.

In desperation, I called Rob at work and all he could hear was James wailing and me shouting, "Help! He is pulling on my crocodile clips!" which meant that Rob had to do a SOS call home; consequently, he had to leave the office during an important meeting. I can tell you - no meeting with fellow computer blokes could have possibly over-shadowed the hysterical scene that he encountered when he walked through the front door. I honestly have no idea where Bethan was during all of this.

Following this particular distressing experience, I insisted that Rob was there to help me restrain James whilst he was having a haircut. It made no difference. At least this time we managed to get James to have half a haircut; it's just a shame that one half of his head is trimmed and neat and the other half looks like an overgrown meadow in the summer.

Poor lad.

Dentist or hairdresser? Dentist or hairdresser? Hmmm... which is worse?