We have a bald Indian Miner that lives in our garden. We’ve named him Garibaldi. 

We feed him and this winter Ben wanted us to knit him a hat and scarf. For the bird. Not Ben. He’s a regular visitor and if after a few days we haven’t seen him, we start to stress. Has he moved on? Has he sounds better home? Has he died? And then, as if called, he appears.  
We love Garabaldi and feel blessed that he’s decided to call our garden home. 
Of course, this isn’t a post about a rather unfortunate looking bird, it’s about every, or most parents’ worst nightmare. 
Ben and his buddy were upstairs in the bathroom. Ben was sitting, fully clothed, in an empty bath and Kopsi was having a poo, which he showed me, just so I’d believe him. Everything seemed fine so I popped downstairs to answer my phone.  A few minutes later Mark went upstairs to check on them and I heard a ‘oh crap!’ And then Mark came downstairs and said I needed to call the person back as we have a ‘situation’.
As I turned, Mark presented me with exhibit A and exhibit B. 


My worst nightmare, or one of, had happened. Ben had cut Kopsi’s hair. Like any good mom I sent Mark to tell the scalped child’s parents what had happened. Thankfully they were understanding and later we had a chat with Ben about playing with scissors, cutting people’s hair, that it’s dangerous and that it could have gone very wrong. “But it didn’t!” Says Ben, who’s at an all-knowing age. “And anyway Kopsi loves his new haircut. I gave him the Garabaldi!”

3 thoughts on “The Garabaldi

  1. Oh dear lord! Yes, the dreaded haircut issues. I was spared it all until about 3 weeks ago when L promptly at the age of 7 shopped a chunk out of C's hair (because they had a fight) SO promptly they both got no 1 haircuts – that does not differ much from the usual no 2's – luckily!Oh and sweet Ben – the Garibaldi

  2. LOL! The giving-another-kid-a-haircut milestone. It's a rite of passage, I think. My sister played hairdresser with a little girl who had, until then, had the most enviable, flaming red curls ever. Her parents were a bit less understanding…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s