Haircuts Gone Bad, Part 2.

I knew it was going to be bad....and it was. We didn't talk about his hair ALL morning until it's time to get in the van.

Noah: "I CAN'T GO TO SCHOOL, MOM!"
Me: "Yes, you can, there's nothing to worry about."
(repeated back and forth about 13 times)

Finally, we at last get into the van, with Noah crying in the backseat. He has his jacket on with the hood on, pulled down tight. It's 70 degrees outside.

Noah: (with lots of tears and crying noises): "Mom, can't we just pretend I'm sick today?"
Me: "No, that would be lying. We don't want to lie to Mrs. Towers, that wouldn't be very nice."

We pull up to the school and Noah refuses to get out. There's lots of crying and tears and "Why, Mom??!!" going on in the backseat. About 5 minutes of back and forth goes on. Finally, he agrees to get out, as soon as the group of 3rd grade girls who are standing next to our van, talking, leave. The girls leave, Noah chickens out.
It now turns 8:25, the bell rings, and all the kids start to go inside. So, now my ugly side is starting to come out.

Me: "I'm going to start counting and I WANT YOU OUT OF THIS VAN BY THE TIME I COUNT TO THREE. 1.....2.............(longer pause, of course.)..........3!!!!!!!!! (Oh, crap, he called my bluff.)

So, I go where no mom wants to go.

Me: "DO YOU WANT A SPANKING????" (crap, he calls my bluff again.)

So, I'm now hauling myself out of the van (in my pajamas, mind you. But, don't worry, all the parents and kids were gone 10 MINUTES AGO!). I yank open the door, haul him out, hood and all, and give him a 'gentle shove' towards the door. He's now walking as slow as possible to the door. A snail would have beat him. He goes inside the door and turns around to give me one last forlorn look. And what do I do? I gun it out of there, of course!! By the time I get to the edge of the parking lot, my motherly instinct has kicked in and I think to myself 'Maybe I should at least make sure he gets to his classroom'. So I go around the circle again, park it in the bus lane and sneak in the school (in my P.J.'s, of course). Luckily, there is a small rectangular window in Noah's Kindergarten door, designed for the purpose of spying undetected. All the kids are sitting on the alphabet rug doing their calendar time and Noah is across the room, by himself, by his cubby (with his jacket and hood on). Mrs. Towers sees him finally and comes over and kneels beside him and talks with him for several minutes. I can't read her lips, but the jacket and hood come off and he walks over to join the other kids. Mrs. Towers then turns around and gives me a smile and a thumbs up. How does she know I'm there? I'm supposed to be spying! I swear, it's a sixth sense teachers have. I love Mrs. Towers.