The Hair Intervention

I love little boys with long hair. If I had it my way, the world would be full of boys whose eyelashes bang up against their long locks. But, for months now, I have had the feeling that friends and strangers alike have been meeting behind my back to plan a hair intervention.

It started with, “Oh, I love his mullet!” and progressed to, “Boy or girl?” and the crescendo was, “I’m sorry, but that kid has some weird hair.” Yet, with unwavering determination I hung onto my Littlest Little’s ringleted locks. I was afraid. Afraid that cutting his hair would mean I was trading in the baby for the boy. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready UNTIL my Biggest Little came home from school and said, “They all laughed at me because I have my toes painted and hair like a girl.” (Side-note: I know what you are probably thinking… it’s just that they ALWAYS BEG ME to paint their toes when I’m painting mine… my Littlest Little even sticks his chubby little foot out and says “Toes!” It’s really hard to resist that!)

I wanted to say, “Well, my boy, TAKE ME TO THOSE KIDS and I will SET THEM STRAIGHT!” Instead, while verbally boosting my five year old’s ABSOLUTE  boyness, I mentally planned a time to finally let go of SOME of the long locks… even my Littlest Little’s.

I avoid cutting hair at all costs not only because I love boys with long hair, but also because haircuts by me are met with this reaction…

THIS is the face I was met with when I tried to get a quick “before” portrait.

I’m pretty sure he thinks he is going to die…

And the faces only get more dramatic from here. I don’t blame him. I am NOT particularly good at cutting hair. In fact, cutting their hair scares the pants off me. All I did was quickly glance at this post on a website whose name makes me shiver just a bit. As my friend Amy says, “I would rather scratch my eyes out with sharp pieces of glass than…” you fill in the blank. In this case, “than cut my kid’s hair.” If we weren’t living in these (ahem) conditions, I would never EVER attempt home hair cuts. But where there are no fancy pants hair salons for white kids, mommas must find a way.

Aaaand the right hand side image is what I got when I offered BROWNIES (!!) for an “after” portrait. I think we’re done here.

And then it was his turn. I had lasted two years, two months and 6 days. It was time. I hated to do it, like the way I hate to exercise but it feels great. By the way, who’s kid looks at the back side of a mirror and smiles? Mine, that’s right!

And then it was over… and ever since I’ve been doing a double take when my boys walk into a room. It’s like they’ve lost all their familiarity… and then they open their mouths and I have no problem remembering exactly who they are.