Miss judgy pants in the house

Man, I hate it when I find myself caught in total hypocrisy.  Like when I openly judged Celine Dion for letting her son have girl hair. 

Or made him have it, I don't think he wanted to look like a girl.  A pretty girl, but um, still a girl.

And then I was going through some pictures of last summer and stumbled upon this gem. 

That is my son. 



And this.

Oh and this.

Well dang.  It appears I let my son have girl hair.  Or made him.  I distinctly remember having conversations like this:

Hubby: I think Daymon needs a  haircut.

Me:  Noooooooo.  I like it!  He's like a little skater.  A little surfer.  It's cute.

Hubby:  Or girly.

Me: No, he looks awesome.  I'm like the mom who lets my boys have long hair, you know, I'm cool.  I'm one of those moms. 

Hubby:  .....

Me:  Don't give me that look, I am cool, according to an eight year old, and I like it on him. 

Or something like that.  I can't be expected to keep track of every conversation.  I have a lot to remember, like all the words to Gilligan's Island theme song and where we keep the fly swatter.

So when Daymon came to me and said he wanted "spiky" hair, I was quick to load him into the car before he could change his mind.  Or I could change my mind. 

And look what happened!  I have a new child!  With eyes!!  Aliya and I just keep gushing everytime he enters the room. 

And I have learned a valuable lesson about judging others.  Wich is this:  Don't. 

I think a lot of after school specials could have been summed up a whole faster and without all the drama if they would just follow my lead.  Hey kids, want to smoke?  Don't. 

Ta-da!