It seems I should have been a butcher–because that’s exactly what I did to PJ’s hair today. His hair grows super fast, and it’s been ages since we had it cut. We were going to do it right before leaving for our Christmas trip, but then he fell and bumped his head good and we didn’t want his bruise to show in all those Christmas pictures. His hair covered it nicely. We were going to cut it as soon as we got home, but then we all got the cold that wouldn’t quit. Then M had to leave for his trip yesterday, and I don’t feel comfortable handling both boys at the salon alone.
But it’s bad enough that it really couldn’t wait any longer. It was tickling his ears, driving him crazy, and falling into his eyes so that he almost couldn’t even see through the curtain of hair. I wanted to stop before he started walking into walls and we decided to postpone the haircut again because of another bruise. That’s how PJ’s home haircut became the project for today.
For the record, PJ could care less about haircuts. All but one time before today, he has sat there quietly while someone started chopping up his hair. The lady at the salon last time couldn’t believe he was only two, he was so cooperative. While I didn’t expect quite the same cooperation, I assumed he would only whine for a few minutes and then let me go at it.
I’m not confident in my haircutting skills. I’ve seen it done enough times that I felt okay trying on my own, but I really did need to work on a still, distracted child to do a reasonable job. So it goes without saying that PJ threw the mother of all fits the second I got the scissors near his hair. I got the first two or three cuts without too much fuss, so I was committed. And that’s when he lost it altogether–hiccupy cries, squirming his head all over the place, kicking his feet so hard I thought he would knock over the chair he was in.
It was a total horror. I had to keep trying until I at least had the hair out of his ears and eyes, and hopefully a relatively straight cut while I was at it. At least I got the first part done. If anybody looks closely or if his hair falls straight down above his eyes, it’s totally obvious I butchered it. It frustrates me because I’m really not inept. I could have done a pretty decent cut, and a more complete one, if I had had any tiny bit of cooperation.
Now I’m embarrassed to get too many pictures of him or take him out of the house until it grows out a bit. I’m also reluctant to take him to the salon before it’s grown a little more so that they can’t see what an awful job I did. I guess I should have known better than to try. But the truth is that I can give him a good haircut; it’s his own fault that it looks bad–not that anybody else would blame him over me.