Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Why I Cut My Children's Hair, An Essay
At some point, well, actually, it was the point at which I pressed my knee into my 2-year-old's chest to restrain him, I realized that my children should never step foot inside a salon. A scene from "How To Properly Sheer a Lamb" is not generally included in basic tuition for most beauty colleges. Or is it? I just don't know.
Anyway, when it's time to cut hair at our house I start by dropping hints. The, "I think hair is going to grow into your brain through your ear" is a pretty good scare tactic. I also try the, "Don't be afraid it doesn't hurt" tactic. I generally let them touch the clippers while the clippers are buzzing away. After about a week of this pussy-footing around I spring it on them. Something really subtle like, "I'm cutting your hair and you're going to like it."
This is when the screaming begins. There's also a lot of half clad boyness running to and for. Oh and tears. There is always a liberal amount of tears. Then there's the fight to see who will be first. Sometimes Cooper mans up and just goes for it. Usually that's when there's ice cream sandwiches at stake. (That boy will agree to just about anything for an ice cream sandwich. And please do not use this juicy bit of information for evil.)
The first 2 seconds are usually uneventful and I usually let my guard down. Not the guard on the hair clippers, but my actual anxiety guard. As soon as I do that, a little teeny, tiny bit of hair will get inhaled up a nostril, or fall onto a big fat lip and the boy goes wild. Perhaps you don't know what wild means.
Rolling on ground. (I know that's not all parallel constructiony, but I don't want you to think we're doing anything with green grass and papers.)
The wild part doesn't really end. I just get creative in pinning them onto the floor at various angles so I can chop parts of their hair off. Occasionally other body parts get chopped, as well.
And that's it. That's the very reason I don't take them to a salon. Oh but wait. I know what you're thinking. If it was a professional they would behave. (Please wait just a second while I pee my pants from laughing so hard.)
The last time I took them to a haircutting place -- I refuse to call it a salon because stylists I know would be offended -- the above scene happened but I paid $32 for it. And, because the haircutters -- again, not going to call them stylists -- were afraid of hurting my children to achieve decent haircut Cooper came home with a mullet. So, I then recut their hair that very same day.
So, I'm just saying, if you look at either of my kids and you think to yourself, "GoodNESS that boy needs a haircut." just know that I probably did just cut it.
PS -- You have until Friday, Jun 12 to enter this little give away. I'll announce the winners the following week. Sound good?