We went to the hairdressers. His first professional cut.
Washed. Styled. Blow Dried.
I took a little boy in and came out with a tweeny.
He looks a bit like a tousled, super-cool hedgehog, is ecstatic and can't take his eyes off any reflection in a ten meter radius.
In lieu of an available reflection he will twist and turn to get a better look at his spiky fringe in his shadow.
We even had our first "bad hair" crisis after martial arts that involved me having to re-gel the fringe to his liking. In the car park.
It was really odd, as the scissors snipped the little boy vanished and this young man-to-be emerged. I felt both excited for him, yet sad, all at the same time.
Where do the years go?
Cos I swear it was only two minutes ago that I was having to bribe him with five euro notes (recycled, don't call the mumy police, it's not like I let him spend them) to do a poo in the loo rather than in his beloved nappy.
I'm going to blink and he is going to be looking down at the top of my head.
Which means I need new shoes, even higher ones.
See ! Silver lining in every tweenage cloud.
Those power blue, suede, criss cross "T-strap with a twist" stilettos that I spied today (and made a bee line for, practically licking the shop window in my heel-lust) .... are mine !
89 euros for shoes only looks extortionate until you compare it to the cost of pre-empty-nest-angst therapy.
If you think about it, I'm being really rather frugal all things considered.