Day 51 A Nick and a Cut

I took my son for an overdue haircut. It’s overdue because I wanted it to grow out a bit, you know just so it’s longer on top, but clean cut on the back. No, not a bowl cut or “insert celebrity name here” cut. I don’t want them buzzing anything either. Just trim it up and clean it up. He’s got thick hair and a major cowlick, hence the longer style. If his hair is remotely short, it sticks right up, and there’s no slickin’ it down. 

Now, the interesting thing about this trip wasn’t the haircut itself. It was the tiny, little, itsy bitsy, teensy weensy, miniscule, little (did I say that one already) cut. My little imps (that’s what they become at the mall) find it very difficult to walk together without feeling the need to body check or paw at one another. So it was no surprise to me when my son found a tiny, little, itsy bitsy, teensy weensy, miniscule, little cut from his sister on his . And this happened just before going into the salon.

Oh, the drama kicked up at that point! He was cradling his injured  hand with his other hand, holding out in front him as if it just might fall off. 

Then it hit him... “Hair! What if hair gets on it from the haircut!!” 

Oh good Lord! Seriously? I should’ve seen it coming. He doesn’t love having his haircut because he can’t stand--can’t stand-- feeling the tiny hairs around his neck and getting into his ears and clothes, which is another reason why I don’t want them using clippers on him--scissors only. Seems like the loose hair isn’t so fine that way. 

“Your hand will be under the cape and it will be fine, I assure you.” He wasn’t assured. Even as he sat in the chair, while I explained how I wanted the stylist to do his hair, he was deeply concerned. I could see him fighting back tears of frustration. I knew that if I continued to discuss it, he would lose it. I excused myself to the nail polish area and allowed him to continue on without me. Sometimes, you have to know when to walk away, even if you don’t want to. 

A couple of minutes later, I heard him talking it up with the stylist. She got him out of his shell and yuckin’ it up about who knows what... I’ll never know, because my son never remembers anything when I ask him about it later. When the haircut was over, I was called over to inspect. Looked good, except guess what?! She cut him with the scissors. Just a little cut, but definitely bigger than the tiny, little, itsy bitsy, yada yada cut. Did he complain that there was hair all over it?! Nope. When the stylist asked him if he was okay, did he dramatize it? Nope, he was totally fine with it. Huh? Oh, I’m glad he was fine with it, but I just wish I could figure this stuff out occasionally. 

Can you see the nick? That little red dot down there.. see it. 

Now imagine how small the cut on his hand was!

Another problem with the stylist’s mishap is that my daughter saw that she was right after all! She specifically brought this scenario up when she got her haircut (Day 21 Shock of Hair) and I brushed it off. And today she sees her brother attacked with shears! Why does the universe see fit to prove me wrong in front of my children so frequently? 

Sigh... At least everyone walked out happy... some slightly bleeding.. but happy. That’s enough for me! I’ll smile as I smear on neosporin and hope that the scissors were cleaned after ever use.