You may recall that Second Born did a lovely swan dive onto a set of concrete steps earlier this summer, earning him a bloody nose and a trip to the Sick Kids for a bit of head-gluing-back-together. That was weeks ago. (He was fine.) He enjoyed the whole "don't get it wet for a week" thing that allowed him to get out of showers for a few days, the wound healed and we all waited for the glue, which hardens into a sort of pseudo-scab (great name for a band that) to disintegrate.
It had not disintegrated by the time they went off to Granny and Grandad's a couple of weeks ago. That trip was right before they were due back at school and Granny was primed: if the glue came out, she was to take both boys to the barbers and get them haircuts. They haven't had a haircut for months and both are looking a bit shaggy. Like late-era Beatles.
The glue did not come out. Both boys went back to school in their lovely, smart (excruciatingly expensive) new school blazers. And shaggy hairdos (as FB refuses to get his hair cut if his brother isn't going too, and frankly I don't have the strength to deal with the logic of that particular argument.)
Anyway, 10 days have passed. SB is still claiming that the glue cannot be moved. I have examined his head (I had to get him in a half-nelson first) and the wound is completely healed. The glue is stuck in his hair but not in any way to his head. He is, I think, having me on. As long as he has the glue, he keeps his long hair.
As I type he is in the shower having been told that either the glue comes out tonight by his own hand or I will be attacking him with a fine-toothed comb and a complete disregard for his personal comfort. What's the betting he will be clean, fragrant and glue-free next time I see him?
In one other significant development, this weekend Husband and I caved and bought a freeview box for the spare bedroom so the boys can watch TV up there. In my defence, they still don't have (and will not be getting any time soon) TV in their bedroom. I don't believe in that and they can whine at me and call me unfair all they like. I don't care. I know that boys, TV in bedrooms and getting up early for school do not mix. So there.
But honestly, the TV in the spare bedroom was a desparate act of self-defence. If Husband and I had to spend one more afternoon in the living room while SB watched non-stop reruns of "Top Gear", blood would have been shed. There is only so much Jeremy Clarkson a reasonable person can be expected to take. So it's the lesser of two evils really, isn't it?