Haircuts (Or, “Times I Feel Like a Criminal Mastermind”)

August 5, 2010 § 2 Comments

I’m not too sure what I did in a past life to have been rewarded with such an easygoing first child.  Sadly, this has left me woefully underprepared for whenever the Kid does unabashedly freak out.

I am a lucky, lucky woman.  My natural tendency towards nervous hyperactivity has been tempered over time by a variety of factors – but perhaps one of the most powerful has been the calming influences of first the Husband, and later the Kid, Nemo.  They are two very mellow, easy-going peas in a pod.  Seriously, when I grow up I want to be them.

Yet mellow or not, there are still certain times when Nemo morphs from my charming little cherub to one Very Unhappy Camper.  And who am I to complain?  I know that his natural state of relaxed affability is a Very Amazing Gift.  The only problem is that on those few occasions where he does cry and carry on, I am way underprepared. 

There are very few instances that will make Nemo cry.  When he was a baby, he’d cry when he was hungry or when he had shots, and that was pretty much it.  I’m serious.  He’ll voice his displeasure over being interrupted at play but it’s more of a quick squawk like “hey, I wasn’t finished!” but then he’s done.  He’s big on babbling and will most certainly give you a piece of his mind if you cross him, but he quickly returns to his sweet, smiling self.  I call him a Little Rhino because he sees (and feels) nothing wrong with using his head as a bulldozer.  He scampers over the furniture like a tiny chimp and he seems to consider all slips and falls to be merely inconveniences that slow him down.  His modus operandi is to act first, ask questions later.

So far, his only weakness appears to be THE HAIRCUT.

Ah the joys of the children’s haircut.  Sometimes I think that maybe one of the seven circles of hell could very well be a garishly colourful mirrored cube with seats shaped like planes, trains and automobiles, and a name like Krazy Kutz 4 Kidz.  I wonder if the very nature of places such of these is what turns even the happiest, most easygoing children into screaming banshees.  At first, it seems like the Coolest Place Ever!  TVs everywhere!  Toys!  Smiling cartoons!  Ride-on cars with steering wheels!  Plus, Mom keeps telling you what a great place it is, and how much fun you’re going to have!

Right?  Wrong.

Out of nowhere, some weird stranger lady who Definitely Is Not Mom starts messing with your hair, pulling it, yanking it, and definitely getting way into your personal space.  Then the other kids start to cry.  Suddenly, this doesn’t seem so fun anymore.  You look at Mom and she’s telling you what a good boy you are but you can tell she’s nervous and that lady is still doing something weird making snip sounds and then…  BZZZZZZZZZ.  Horrible loud buzzing noise right behind your head, you can hear it and even feel the buzzing, and it is scary like nothing has ever been before, and Mom isn’t even protecting you.

Cue hysterical screaming.

This is the point where I feel like a terrible mother and the sneakiest sneak ever.  I looked at the other mothers and wondered if they all felt as diabolical as I.  I felt like we should all be wearing ski masks and telling our kids this was a stick up.

Naturally, Nemo is now fine.  He was rewarded with hugs, kisses and all of his favourite songs.  I told him I was very proud of him and that he was a very brave boy (how much of this he understands at 18 months, I don’t know), and we exchanged enthusiastic high fives.  Then we went to the T&T to admire the live crabs, fish and texturally-intriguing fruits and vegetables.  Soon, all was forgotten.

Until the next time.

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§ 2 Responses to Haircuts (Or, “Times I Feel Like a Criminal Mastermind”)

  • Nikki says:

    On the plus side, he won’t remember it. The first haircut I remember: it wasn’t the actual haircutting that was traumatic, but my Mom had asked for my hair cut short but with a rats tail (yeah, it was the 80s). Anyway, I cried all the way home and insisted that my Mom cut it off the instant we got home. When I remind her about this now, she still insists that the haircut was cute. I’m not sure how old I was at the time, but at least several years older than The Kid.

  • […] gorgeous head of blonde curls.  I love them, and he loves them, gauging by the way he reacts to a haircut.  But to make life easier, we just chop it off when it get a little too wild.  And as much as I […]

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