Barbershop Mayhem
I took my children to get haircuts today. In my defense, it's summer, and they needed it. Well, that is to say, two got a haircut, and the third was highly encouraged to watch before I gave up. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
My father recently admonished me to make sure Matthew didn't need a haircut when he goes to see them in Florida in a few weeks. Now, I love my papa a lot, but his idea of a little boy's haircut and mine differ somewhat. The last time my son came back from visiting his grandparents, he had a crewcut that took forever to grow out. I like the crewcut look (hey, I used to be in the army) but it has to be at least a little bit longer on top. Matthew looked like a miniature Mr. Hedbavny, my old elementary school principal. Freaked me out for awhile.
Anyway, on Day 8 of sumer vacation (67 more to go) I got my three little monsters into the car and off to the barbershop. I still don't know what I was thinking. Then again, I obviously wasn't, because any mother with at least one functioning brain cell would know better than to take all three of my boys to get a haircut at the same time.
The bad news was, we had to wait. The really bad news was that we had to wait a really long time. Since I'd passed the point of no return (the boys were looking shaggy), I was determined to get them a haircut, even if it killed me. It almost did.
Luke, who is four, started getting restless first. I mean, magazines featuring heads of different styles of hair can only hold his attention so long. He, quite naturally, egged his bigger brother (Andrew is six) on and pretty soon I began to have serious concern for the safety of the bottles of shampoo on display. (Why do these places have rows upon rows of bottles on display at kid level? Why?)
I took them outside to run laps on the sidewalk in front of the shop. This method of exhausting my children into submission has worked wonders in the past. I kept one eye on them, and another through the shop windows. I herded the boys back in when I saw that our turn was coming up next.
The stylist finished her customer, turned, looked right at me, and suddenly decided it was her break time. Now, not to toot my own horn, but I am a great tipper. I know that it isn't easy to cut a squirmy kid's hair (particularly Andrew's). I weathered the insult and calmly informed Matthew (o.k. my voice wasn't strictly as quiet as it could have been) that it apparently wasn't our turn yet and that he would get to go next. Andrew decided he'd had enough of paging through hairstyle books and started decorating the windows with his fingerprints. And Luke? He made a beeline for the lollipops. What kind of idiot leaves a cup full of lollipops within reach of the average 3 foot child?
I decided they didn't need haircuts that badly and gathered my brood and headed back home. My husband came home in time to see that our kitchen had been temporarily converted into a barbershop. He walked in to a mess unbeknownst to modern sanitary conditions. Our youngest decided it would be fun to play with the clumps of hair, and had proceeded to sprinkle them artistically throughout the house.
We went out to eat that evening. And I found hair for weeks afterward.
My father recently admonished me to make sure Matthew didn't need a haircut when he goes to see them in Florida in a few weeks. Now, I love my papa a lot, but his idea of a little boy's haircut and mine differ somewhat. The last time my son came back from visiting his grandparents, he had a crewcut that took forever to grow out. I like the crewcut look (hey, I used to be in the army) but it has to be at least a little bit longer on top. Matthew looked like a miniature Mr. Hedbavny, my old elementary school principal. Freaked me out for awhile.
Anyway, on Day 8 of sumer vacation (67 more to go) I got my three little monsters into the car and off to the barbershop. I still don't know what I was thinking. Then again, I obviously wasn't, because any mother with at least one functioning brain cell would know better than to take all three of my boys to get a haircut at the same time.
The bad news was, we had to wait. The really bad news was that we had to wait a really long time. Since I'd passed the point of no return (the boys were looking shaggy), I was determined to get them a haircut, even if it killed me. It almost did.
Luke, who is four, started getting restless first. I mean, magazines featuring heads of different styles of hair can only hold his attention so long. He, quite naturally, egged his bigger brother (Andrew is six) on and pretty soon I began to have serious concern for the safety of the bottles of shampoo on display. (Why do these places have rows upon rows of bottles on display at kid level? Why?)
I took them outside to run laps on the sidewalk in front of the shop. This method of exhausting my children into submission has worked wonders in the past. I kept one eye on them, and another through the shop windows. I herded the boys back in when I saw that our turn was coming up next.
The stylist finished her customer, turned, looked right at me, and suddenly decided it was her break time. Now, not to toot my own horn, but I am a great tipper. I know that it isn't easy to cut a squirmy kid's hair (particularly Andrew's). I weathered the insult and calmly informed Matthew (o.k. my voice wasn't strictly as quiet as it could have been) that it apparently wasn't our turn yet and that he would get to go next. Andrew decided he'd had enough of paging through hairstyle books and started decorating the windows with his fingerprints. And Luke? He made a beeline for the lollipops. What kind of idiot leaves a cup full of lollipops within reach of the average 3 foot child?
I decided they didn't need haircuts that badly and gathered my brood and headed back home. My husband came home in time to see that our kitchen had been temporarily converted into a barbershop. He walked in to a mess unbeknownst to modern sanitary conditions. Our youngest decided it would be fun to play with the clumps of hair, and had proceeded to sprinkle them artistically throughout the house.
We went out to eat that evening. And I found hair for weeks afterward.
Labels: boys, children, family, fatherhood, haircut, humor, laugh, mommy, stress
posted by Kirsten at 10:10 AM
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