THRILLING HAIR UPDATE: I posted this in the comments section of yesterday's post, but as I'm probably the only person who reads them, I'll repeat myself. Thanks to all my fellow oily-scalped laaaaaaadddddies for all the advice and tips. I most definitely own dry shampoo and have been using it for many years. I have tried all the brands and spent ALL THE MONEY. (My favorites are Lush No Drought, although I recommend transferring it to an applicator bottle like this, because the original packaging sucks, and Not Your Mother's Clean Freak or Batiste
But dry shampoo just hasn't been cutting it for me for months now -- I use it at night; wake up with an actual oil slick on my head. I wash my hair in the morning; need to apply dry shampoo by late afternoon. That's entirely too much product, not to mention the daily use of my expensive color-safe shampoo, which STILL causes my color to fade since I only use semi-perm. (Hair is way too fine for ammonia-based colors. Breaks right the fuck off. Plus semi-perm adds a little volume at the roots for some reason.)
ANYWAY OH MY GOD ISN'T THIS ALL SO INTERESTING: My hair looks so much better this morning! I mean, it's all pillow-smushed and frizzy, but it's not oily. It's. Not. Oily! My face was less shiny when I woke up too, which...whoa. Bonus. So I think I'm going to give it a quick cold-water rinse today so I can style it, but continue on with the no-shampoo thing for a bit longer. Then hopefully, HOPEFULLY, figure out how many days I can realistically go on a regular basis in-between washes.
I promise to keep you updated every step of the way on the truly fascinating topic of Amy's Disgusting Hair.
Yesterday afternoon, Ike and I finally exhausted all of his options for self-amusement. He'd played with all of Noah's Forbidden Toys, assembled all the puzzles, catered a large picnic in the living room, etc. I had a couple work things to finish up and about an hour before his brothers would be home to provide a distraction, sooooo....TELEVISION TIME IT IS.
I put Nick Jr. on. Ike heard the beep of the TV and came running, super excited because WHOA TV IN THE DAYTIME? Crazy. Maybe she'll bust out a giant bag of M&Ms and let me fill up a kiddie pool with them.
Go Diego, Go! was on. Ike stared at it, confused. "This is not Transformers?" he asked.
Poor, poor third baby.
Ezra at least got a couple years of preschool TV overlap with Noah, but by the time Ike came along they'd both abandoned most of it behind in favor of...well, absolute garbage television. The 22-minute toy commercial kind of television, with lots of BOOMS and BANGS and KARATE CHOPS, where each season introduces 1) a new species of villain, which you can buy, 2) a bunch of slightly different modes of transportation/hide-outs, which you can buy, and 3) HA HA HA the returning heroes all changed their uniforms/helmets/colors juuuuuuuust slightly, so fuck it, let's buy them, all over again!
I tried to fight it for awhile. Everyone gets a turn to pick that night's cartoon or movie (on the weekend), so for Ike's turn I would insist on something slightly age-appropriate. An Elmo movie. Curious George. Mister Rogers, Thomas, Blue's Clues...all the stuff that the other two used to watch over and over without complaint, but now found to be hella boring.
But it didn't take long for Ike to take back his choice. When it was his turn to pick, he wanted the big kid stuff. The Lego Ninjago, Chima, Hero Factory bullshit. Old 1980s era Transformers, or Cartoon Network shows that totally understand the gentle comic nuance that is Characters Getting Kicked In The Balls.
So basically, he had no idea what to make of Go Diego, Go!
(For the record, I cannot stand Go Diego, Go! either, and am not even fooling myself that by putting it on, I was making some kind of wise investment in my child's educational future. CLICK TAKE A PIC CLICK TAKE A PIC SHUT UP ROSIE PEREZ THAT'S NOT EVEN HOW CAMERAS FUCKING WORK.)
When Ike walked in, Diego was screeching to the audience at home to put their hands over their ears because...I don't know. Something about a dumb baby animal being dumb and far from home and it's neglectful parent. The usual. But I noticed Ike put his hands on his ears. Ah-ha! The format works! Listen to the glowing TV box and do exactly what it says, little viewer monkey! OBEY MY DOG!
The next command involved yelling something in Spanish, so I decided to join in. I yelled it out and looked over at Ike and encouraged him to join me.
...and that child gave me the best, most hilariously pitying side-eye I have ever seen. Like, woman, get a hold of yourself for Christ's sake.
"It's TV, Mom." he sighed. "They don't hear you, actually."
(Not that "actually" comes out more like "actual wee.")
Turns out he only followed the ear-covering instruction because despite the lack of shit getting blown up, Diego is just too damn loud. I have to agree with that assessment.