Tiny Bugs

So, I was having a very enjoyable evening grading papers and chatting online with my BFF Ang. Harper was beside me, watching a show on my new iPhone (which I love SO MUCH). Things were going well. Things were nice.

I log off with Ang and as I do so I happen to look at the arm of the couch next to me. The windows are open (yes, we have screens) as was the door to the deck. There are some little bugs crawling on the couch and flying around the lamp. Wait. Make that a lot of little, tiny bugs. I respond how I always do when confronted with a bug issue.

"Maaaaaaark."

Mark comes over.

"There are little bugs everywhere."

Mark attempts to solve the problem with his fingers. He has some success (disgusting). Then I look in the dining room where Harper is making some art with construction paper. There are what must be HUNDREDS of tiny bugs flying around the light and crawling on the table. Apparently, these tiny bugs came in THROUGH THE SCREENS. Yes. Tiny. And invading our house.

"Maaaaaaark..."

"I'm not sure what to do about it," says Mark.

"Um. Get the vacuum."

Skeptical. "Ok."

While Mark gets the vacuum and starts sucking up bugs, I discover that there are a whole bunch more around the two light fixtures in the kitchen.

I officially have the heebie-jeebies.

So Mark is vacuuming vacuuming vacuuming.

Then Harper says:

"There were bugs in my hair so I cut off the sides."

Mark says, "What?"

"There were bugs in my hair. So I cut off the sides."

Mark says, "Go show your Mom."

I come into the living room.

"What now?" I say to Harper.

"I cut off the sides. There were bugs in my hair."

Third time it slowly starts to sink in. Harper cut her hair.

"Ok," I say. "Lemme see."

She shows me.

Yep. Cut hair. A clump about three inches long falls to the floor at her feet.

"Ok, honey, give me the scissors."

I think every parent faces this particular situation at some point. And it doesn't look TOO bad. Of course, I later discover it's a little worse than I originally thought. Let's just say that Harper is going to look really goofy in a pony tail for awhile.

I say to Harper, "Ok honey. From now on, let's try to remember that Darrin (our stylist) is the one that cuts our hair."

Harper looks a little sad.

"I'm not mad at you, honey. But you can't grow your hair long if you cut it off, can you? And it's Darrin's job to cut it."

Harper nods slowly.

So, I guess we'll see what it looks like tomorrow. Astonishingly, she got the sides pretty even. She just cut more off one side than the other. It ALMOST looks intentional... from the front... From the side... Weeeeelllll...

From Closet to Toilet

Harper likes to hide. Sometimes when I come home Mark will tell me that she is hiding. Then I have to go find her. Other times she will just spontaneously sneak around and hide. This story starts with hiding. It ends someplace much... different.

On Sunday Harper had been playing quietly in her room for some time. After some nice extended quiet time, I hear her feet on the hardwood floor in the hallway. They patter quickly from her room and then stop. But she's not in the living room. I hear some suspicious noises. Noises from behind the recliner. Harper is doing something behind the recliner. She thinks she is sneaky. Mark and I both ignore her.

After another few moments, her feet patter back down the hallway. She dodges into our bedroom. Then... silence.

Me: "She's in our room."

Mark gets up and walks toward the bedroom. He goes in.

All of a sudden:

"AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

Harper screams. It's a pretty good scream. Sort of a cross between "Oh God I'm really scared!" and "Oh God this is fun!"

Mark comes out laughing.

He says, "She was hiding in your closet behind your clothes. I scared her good. I walked past your closet and then back out. Then I snuck back and jumped down in front of her."

I laughed. It was a good scream.

Time passes. Mark and I are hanging out in the living room with Tegan. Then... footsteps running into the bathroom. Nothing really out of the ordinary. Harper is frequently discovering that she has to go to the bathroom RIGHT NOW.

Then...

"OH NO."

Usually not something you want to hear from your three-year-old.

Mark jumps up and jogs to the bathroom.

I catch bits of conversation.

"Why...? Where is it...? Oh god... Okay... let's clean up..."

I yell, "What's up?"

"She pooped in her shorts."

"What?"

Mark appears with said shorts held gingerly in his hand.

I look at them. It's bad.

I decide they are a lost cause. "Just throw them in the garbage."

"Really?"

"Yeah," I say. "She has other shorts. Wait... what about her underwear?"
"She wasn't wearing any."

"Uh... oh, well, that's good I guess."

Mark heads to the garage, then stops and turns.

"You know," he says, "I can't help but feeling that this is sort of my fault... You know, earlier, when I made her scream..."

He chuckles and holds up the shorts.

"I think I scared the shit out of her."