Originally published Feb. 25, 2008, thehive.modbee.com 

Some days you just want to preserve as the “Groundhog Day” of parenting, not because you want to repeat them until you get them right, but because they were right.

Days like today: 45 minutes, two haircuts, not even a whimper, a smiling stylist and two faces sticky from lollipops.

Life is good.

I was unreasonably nervous heading out for the guys’ semiannual shearing today. The fact that their haircuts are designed to last almost six months tells you how bad the experience can be. Plus, I’d never taken both guys by myself, without a second in case one or the other broke bad.

Big Guy broke me in – and almost broke me down – when he was about 10 months old. I was too chicken to brave a salon, so a hair dresser friend made a house call. I didn’t figure it would be that huge a deal – Big Guy adores the friend, who has a talent for doing a dead-on Elmo imitation. Frankly, it used to scare me before I had kids, but I now appreciate its usefulness.

So I cheerfully set up the camera on the tripod, ready to preserve one of those poignant moments of childhood. Big Guy was cheerful at first, too, happy to see Elmo. That lasted until the first snip. When I turned the camera off 10 minutes later – I really didn’t need video to preserve a memory firmly burned in my brain forever – it seemed  the red-faced wailing had lasted days.

“You should have known you’d have problems,” my mom said later. “Babies don’t like clippers.”

“It was a scissor cut,” I responded through gritted teeth.

He was well over 2 before he sort of accepted haircuts as inevitable.

Little Guy was a little easier. One of my sisters was visiting for his first cut, which we did at a salon. I think Elmo has forever retired from cutting kids’ hair. My sister sat in the chair with Little Guy, so he still was able to see me. As a result, he didn’t freak out until the final 15 minutes, which would have been the final five minutes if he’d just held still.

The two years since have been variations on that same theme. Little Guy throwing a fit at the end, and Big Guy protesting the   tickle thing” before the clippers even come out of the drawer.

I wondered today it were an omen that storm clouds moved in as Big Sheepdog, Little Goldilocks and I left the house. I wondered again when we got to the shop and Big Guy wanted his brother to go first. That never  happens. What does he know that I don’t?

I sat down with Little Guy and hoped for the best. He immediately turned and Velcroed himself to me. “I don’t want it haircut,” he protested. It was a mild complaint, though, and he tolerated the experience, wiggling just enough to get hair all over both of us.

When Big Guy’s turn came, he hopped into the chair like a pro. He was disappointed that we left his longer on top than Little Guy’s, but Big Guy has an evil cowlick I wanted to try to obscure. The operative word being “try.” Even a dollop of gel – Big Guy’s first – on top couldn’t tame that beast. He was mollified, though, when the stylist produced a heart lollipop identical to Little Guy’s.

“They’re so good!” she exclaimed, and that’s when I started to breathe again.

I still gave her my usual “I’m sorry they’re so monstrous” over-tip, though. I need to keep that good haircut karma.

Copyright 2008 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.

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