According to the U.S. Census, there are 82.8 million mothers in America. I'm convinced that at least 82.7 million of them have been reduced to tears by simple family tasks.

Sally Owen, who lives in North Carolina, holds down a fulltime job and also manages a household that...read more

My personal Waterloo was The Great Haircut Crisis of 2009.

It began on a Tuesday. I realized my son's school picture was two days away. I'm really not that hung up on the school picture -- my absolute favorite was the year I forgot about it and he went to school in his Spiderman Halloween costume -- but this time it seemed absolutely necessary that he get a haircut.

He is currently affecting quite long hair (thanks, Zack and Cody) and if he had his way, he'd grow it down over his face like Cousin It. He'd only reached sheepdog stage, but I was determined to have him looking half-decent before picture day.

So I called the hair salon to make an appointment with our beloved family hair stylist, Wendi.

And as long as I was on the phone, I realized that I needed a trim myself. I made a 3 p.m. appointment for myself on Thursday. She had a noon opening the following day, Wednesday. I told her I'd bring my son. I was desperate.

The plan: I'd cancel my lunch date, leave work at 11:30, pick him up from school, grab a slice of pizza, get his hair cut and be back at work by 12:45. He'd miss recess and lunch, but no actual instructional time.

That evening, I explained the plan to my family, and they sent up a collective wail.

"Why to I have to get my hair cut?" my son said. "Just for a stupid picture? Don't tell me I have to wear nice clothes, too."

"I need a hair cut," my husband said. "I'm going to a conference on Monday."

"I need to go to Wendi, too," my daughter chimed in. She was apoplectic that her brother was getting his annual trim when she needed one. (Never mind that her last appointment was a mere six weeks ago.)

The next morning, I call Wendi again. My husband will take the 3 p.m. on Thursday, I tell her. I schedule another appointment for 2:30 on the following Tuesday for myself and one at 5:30 for my daughter.

My son's haircut plan goes well. Tear out of the office, dash into school, grab pizza, get haircut, dash back to school, urging him to gobble up the pizza on the way. Which is difficult because all he wants to do is complain.

"I don't like my haircut!" he says. "It's too short!"

Later that day, I receive an email from my husband. Subject line: "haircut sked."

"Hey there. Talked to the salon and all Wendi has is a 2:30 on Friday, which I can't do. But you're at 3 on Thursday, and I told them to switch you to the 2:30 on Friday and me to the 3 tomorrow and I'll try to make that. But I told them we'd doublecheck back to make sure it was O.K. I just wanted to hold the 2:30 on Friday in case you can make it. You could talk about it with Wendi today when you go in. Or I could just go get a haircut somewhere near my office if this doesn't work and you could go back to the Thursday appt."

Insanely complicated, but it could work. I begin to think that it's all under control. No such luck. At 7 a.m. Friday morning it began again.

"I like your new haircut," my husband said.

"Do you think it's too short?" I ask.

"Oh!" he said suddenly, "did you cancel the appointment with Wendi at 2:30 this afternoon?"

"This afternoon? No, that's Tuesday. Remember, I was going to get my haircut on Tuesday so you could take the 3 p.m. on Thursday, but then you couldn't do Thursday so I did Thursday and I canceled the 2:30 on Tuesday, but I kept the 5:30 on Tuesday for her," I said, gesturing toward our daughter.

"No, I made an appointment for 2:30 on Friday for you when I thought I was going to take the 3 p.m. on Thursday, so we still have a 2:30 today scheduled with Wendi," he said. "I sent you an email."

At this point, my daughter piped up. "Did you say 5:30 on Tuesday?" she said. "I can't do 5:30 on Tuesday. That's the day I babysit! I have to be there at 5:30! ... But I really need a haircut."

"Oh, I forgot, also your brother has his drum lesson at 6:30 and Dad's going to be out of town so I couldn't drive you there anyway," I said. "I'll call Wendi."

So I called Wendi and left a message on her machine: "Hi, sorry, this is Sally again. Listen, we won't make the appointment on Friday. And I'm not sure about Tuesday at 5:30, but definitely I'm canceling the 2:30 on Tuesday."

Then I forgot about it. Until Monday, when I realized I hadn't cancelled the other Tuesday appointment. The salon was closed, so I left another message on the machine.

"Um, Wendi, hi, this is Sally, I hope you get this message in time to schedule another client if you have one, but sorry, we won't be needing the Tuesday appointment."

At 7 a.m. Tuesday morning the phone rang. It was my next-door neighbor, the one my daughter babysits for.

"Sally? I was just calling to check in to see if your daughter remembered that she's babysitting tonight."

"Yes," I say, "She's coming early, right? 5:30?"

"Oh, no, that's not tonight. Tonight she can come at the regular time."

"Ack!" I think. "She can go to the 5:30 appointment. I've got to call Wendi before she listens to my message!"

Wendi is reached. At 5 p.m. I sneak out of the office early, dash home, pick up my daughter and take her to the hair salon. The long-suffering Wendi is cheerful as ever. My daughter gets her hair cut and we hop in the car.

Whew. I'm feeling pretty good. School picture? Check. (Nice clothes and all.) My hair has been cut. So has my daughter's. My husband will find someplace close to his office. We are in time for babysitting and the drum lesson. Everyone should be satisfied.

Then my daughter glances in the car mirror, fluffs her hair and turns to me: "I think it's too short."...read more blogs