Reason 1,284 why I won't be named Mother of the Year

This was absolutely my favorite thing that happened this weekend, and I'm a terrible mother for admitting it. The story starts out with me in the bathroom (how many great stories start out like this, right?). Luke and Evie are playing in the den and George is finally taking a much needed nap in his car seat in the front hall (we just got home from the store). I heard the common sound of Evie's scream and whine from the restroom. I knew that she was going to try and find me upstairs which would mean she would walk past George's carrier and up the stairs - screaming the whole time and likely waking up my cranky and sleepy baby. So, against my general policy of not welcoming my children into the restroom while I'm in there, I pushed open the door and called out, "SHHHH! Come here!" in a yelling whisper, thoroughly annoyed that she might wake up George with her tantrum. She walked in with a red splotchy face and tears streaming down her sweet cheeks. I sighed, and asked "What's wrong?" all while knowing that she would tell me Luke had hurt her feelings or she had bumped her head on the couch or some other innocuous incident. But when she started to explain with incoherent words, she turned around so I could see the back of her head where . . . wait for it . . .






a train was stuck. Yup, a little motorized Thomas train named Rusty was stuck in her hair. I cried, "Oh BABY!", and quickly told her to come closer so I could help. Remember, I'm still sitting on the toilet (all this happened in the length of time it took me to pee - I wasn't actually conducting a great deal of business). She came closer and I told her to let go of the train so I could try to get it out. As she did, I lifted the train gently away from her head so I could see how thoroughly it was stuck, the train started chugging again - it wasn't turned off! I yelped and quickly flipped the switch to turn it off and evaluated that it would take more effort than I could give it while still sitting on the toilet. I told her to hold onto it so it wouldn't hurt and to wait while I finished my bathroom trip. She started to whimper and gave a little and sniffle, but she held onto the train named Rusty until I was finished.

Now, here's where a good mom differs from me.

I gently led her into the living room, where I found my camera and told her to hold still while I snapped a few shots. Here they are:

Then I led her into the kitchen where I found a pair of scissors and cut the trapped train out of her hair.

She doesn't have a lot of hair to spare, so luckily it wasn't caught in too much and you can't even see where I cut it out. Still, the hair was really STUCK, so cutting it out was the only option.

I have no problem with cutting a train out of her hair, but still, WHAT was she doing?

Evie is well over the terror of having a train stuck in her hair and was only concerned with getting the hair out of the wheels so it would work again. I, personally, would have stayed away from the scary train for a while, but little kids are resilient. Here's she is playing with it.

You can see the hair stuck in the wheels. I had to tug and pull to get it loose. I only regret that she doesn't have a clean face in this picture. Oh well, make that 1,285 reasons why I won't be named Mother of the Year.