Friday, August 3, 2012

Awkward Mom vs. Haircuts - part 2

Will Super Toddler tie himself to the hair salon and pull it down around himself? Will we get his hair cut first? Are this many Samson references sinful or just awkward? Let's tune in and find out!

So, when I last left you, I was explaining that Super Toddler gets a little godzillaish when we attempt to cut his hair. OK, when I pay someone else to attempt to cut his hair. After our Super Cuts disaster, we were a little lost as to where to take him, and after witnessing the Super Cuts disaster, I was even more committed to not doing it myself or inflicting him on any of my generous frugal friends who offered to do it in a swing at the park. Y'all are sweet, but please, think of the children. Think of the poor park equipment. Think of DCFS; they are busy enough.

Anywho, enter the Awesome family. They didn't offer to cut Super Toddler's hair at the park. They kinda thought that was as weird as I did. They informed me about this hair salon just for kids. A magical place with televisions placed in front of firetruck chairs, a slide in the waiting area, and balloons everywhere. Numerous suckers just for sitting still, and all the children sit still because all the stylists are fairy godmothers with PhDs in handling Samson-like children. It sounds like Shangri La, Neverland, and Mario Tricoci all wrapped up together. I worried that such a wonder must be out of our reach, financially speaking, and while it is no swing at the park, a quick peek at their website told me that it is fairly reasonable, especially when we are talking about avoiding Hulk-level destruction.

Super Toddler has been there twice now, and while he hasn't knocked down the building, he sure hasn't sat still. The first time we went was an Awkward family outing because I sure wasn't gonna attempt it myself. We took both boys (Super Baby was still super-incubating at the time), and the way they walked in the salon told me everything I needed to know. Super Preschooler walked in like someone coming home. He skipped through the door, greeted the fairy godmother stylists like he had known them his whole life, and climbed up the stairs of the slide while holding hands with some random little girl. I swear to you, he looked like something out of the end of Sound of Music. He and his new hair BFF slid down together and romped happily until his name was called. He angelically scaled a Lighting McQueen chair, selected a Curious George to watch, and politely cocked his head to the left. The stylists were about ready to crown him king of the haircuts and shower suckers upon him when they realized that he was related to the loud pile of toddler collapsed by the front door.

Super Toddler behaved like a vampire that hadn't been invited in, so he had to be bodily carried over the threshold of the salon. Once inside, the vampire antics continued; he howled and thrashed like we were bathing him in holy water and garlic. I was fully expecting his head to start spinning around, but he settled for banging on the windows and screaming for the passersby to save him. I don't even think he saw the slide. His name was, reluctantly, called by a fairly capable looking women with impressively motionless Farrah Fawcett hair and glasses the size of small moons. Awkward Dad plopped Super Toddler into her firetruck chair, from which he immediately escaped. We tried a rocket, a police cruiser, and Super Preschooler's Lighting McQueen car; he bested them all. We had to settle for Awkward Dad's lap. We strait-jacketed him into a drape, Awkward Dad pinned his arms down, and I held his head, as this woman used some sort of spell to make her scissors fly. (Told you they were fairy godmothers) The Backyardagins did nothing to drown out Super Toddler's screaming and even the children playing by the slide stilled to stare at him. Our fairy godmother stylist showed her ignorance of Super Toddler and tried to bribe him with a sucker before the hair cut was over. Within 5 seconds, she was forced to cut it out of Awkward Dad's hair. Multiple balloons popped, combs went flying off her shelf, and I received a bruise that lasted 3 weeks, but Super Toddler's hair was cut. Here he is, tamed:

Well, slightly tamed. Whatever. Super Cat seems impressed.

That was the last haircut Super Toddler had. That is, until yesterday. I put it off as long as I could, but the child's hair was looking like this:

It was beyond time.

OK. So, this time I was flying solo. I let Super Preschooler go in first to charm them. He wasn't getting his hair cut, as it still grows about the speed of sloth snails sleeping, but I figured he could run reconnaissance for us. With a quiet stillness that I hoped would inspire confidence, I secured Super Baby in the stroller, placed Super Toddler on the sidewalk, and wheeled Super Baby past him to the door. Then, I flung the door open, shoved her and the stroller inside to the ohhing fairy godmothers, and took off at the sprint down the strip mall to catch the fleeing Super Toddler. I snatched him two steps from the dance studio and hauled him back. I think his banshee screams might have caused an accident or two on the way and I am truly sorry for that.

By the time I reached the hair salon, Super Baby was in danger of being adopted by Farah, whose glasses had grown to the size of medium moons in between visits. With no ceremony whatsoever, I bundled Super Toddler into a drape and plopped him in the firetruck chair. Like a modern day Houdini, he escaped within the time it took for Super Preschooler to find a slide-friend, Farah to tuck a towel around Super Baby, lest she get chilled in the air conditioning, and me to take off my backpack. I caught him at the door and, wrapping myself in a Disney Princess drape, I set my jaw, rooted Super Toddler onto my lap, and settled into the regular barber chair for whatever shenanigans this child had up his sleeve. There were a bunch.

He zigged. He zagged. He pretended to be interested in Phineas and Ferb, only to fling his head into my face the second I got complacent. He screamed. He cried. He nearly hyper-ventilated. He made teeny, tiny whimpering sounds that tested my resolve like nothing else my young motherhood has ever encountered. His blue big eyes were wet with tears as they met mine in the mirror; the betrayal he felt was palpable and stinging. As a result, I was a little rough to Farah as she offered him suckers midway through, but really, had she learned nothing last time? I don't really blame her, it was the longest haircut on record.

But, unbelievably, the Samson principle holds true. With every lock of silky golden hair that tumbled to the floor, his strength weakened. He started like a lion. He struggled, he kicked, he fought with every ounce of his spirit, but in the end, he was cuddled up in the arms, weeping quietly and letting Farah trim around his ears. And I will tell you a secret, Readers; I didn't like it one bit.

It was scary. Super Toddler is joyful and loud and feisty and passion personified. To have your wild child, broken, sad, and curled up in your arms like he doesn't care what happens, is something I don't want any of you to experience. I would rather have to peel him off the ceiling than gingerly pull him off my lap. But I did it. I pulled him off my lap and knelt down in front of him to wipe his tears away with the Sleeping Beauty section of my Princess drape. There was not much I could do about the hair we were both covered in, but I brushed away what I could, while avoiding his sorrowful eyes. I picked him up, and he clung to me like a baby kangaroo. I overpaid Farah and gathered the other Supers, and I somehow got them all to the car without putting Super Toddler down. I gently put him in his car seat and offered him a sucker. He gave it to Super P. with a shrug that fractured my heart.

We began the ride to met Excellent Mom at Ikea (post coming!) in deathly silence. I rolled up the windows, so that I wouldn't have to face the fact that the wind didn't whip his hair around anymore. I called back that we were gonna have a special lunch at Ikea, but I got no response. I was about to despair when Super Preschooler started to talk about bouncing on the beds in the furniture section; a huge no-no. I gazed into the backseat to meet Super Toddler's eyes. With every mention of bed-bouncing, they got a little brighter. And brighter. And brighter. Until they were burning with a sass unparalleled. I could feel my own sass returning as well. We might be about to be kicked out of Ikea, but, Samson-headed or shorn, my wild child was back in the saddle.

PS...Do people really cut their children's hair in swings at the park? We have never seen this with our own eyes. Does it happen at night? It is a pagan ritual? Comment us and let us know if this is a real thing or if Awkward Mom's frugal friends were having a laugh at her expense. It is common knowledge that her frugal ways are not fully developed and susceptible to gullibility. Thanks for the read, Readers; catch you next time for some Ikea adventures!

Fear not, Readers. He'll probably be back to this look by next week.


  1. Haircuts at the park? I've never heard of such a thing. But, as Katie has angry-puked two of the three times we've taken her to have her hair cut, I'm not turning my nose up at it.
    Poor Super T! I'm with you; even though Katie is a handful and a half, I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm glad he got his groove back with forbidden bed-bouncing! LOL!!

    1. I may give it a go next time; but my question is this: is the swing going at the time? My guess is no, but that is gonna make Super Toddler even less likely to behave.....

      I like the wild ones, I can't help it! :)

  2. P.S. Super P's angelic behavior at the hair salon took my breath away. So THAT'S what it's supposed to be like?!?! LOL

    1. He is not always an angel, but when he is, is usually has something to do with fashion or hair. :)

  3. Wow, what an adventure!! I'm lucky to have kids who go bold until they are at least two. Now baby is growing a natural mohawk but nothing to be too concerned about just yet. What I'm really dreading is our first trip to the dentist...

    1. A natural mohawk?! How fun!

      Ugh....yes, the dentist...I am sure that is gonna be a barrel of laughs. :)