It was not a good week for cakes in our house. This is what happened to Brock's cake (thankfully, the day after his birthday). The same culprits that got the last cake, Butch Cassidy (Ivy) and the Sundance Kid (Troy), were responsible for this cake's untimely end.
And why is Ivy Butch Cassidy, you may ask? Well, before/after/during the Great Cake Mash-up, the two partners in crime also got ahold of our hair clippers.
Um, and there's three of those bald spots on Ivy, and one on Troy. (See it? A few inches above her ear? Right where hair is supposed to be growing?) Troy insists that Ivy did it all herself. And yes, I believe him. If he's willing to just stand there while Ivy puts mascara all over him, then why wouldn't he just let her shave his head?
We're lucky enough to have bought some clippers that charge, so you don't have to plug them in. Convenient, huh? And they just happened to be in a drawer that Ivy never opens. Oh, and she also used the scissors to do a few choice chops, like right on top of her head.
Even though she's been our only child to style her own hair with cutting equipment, I'm glad she didn't, like, shave her eyeball or something. And I've been able to do an old man comb-over to cover the spots enough. And eventually it will grow in, and because I've learned my lesson the clippers are oh-so very high, on an unclimbable shelf. So we're safe from any other hair mishaps. I hope.
I cringe to think of the day that Ivy can open doors, though. Not that her fellow outlaw wouldn't help her out with that. Grr.