Jr. is closing in on 18 months. And, his hair has been an impossible mess of curls. Tangled, messy, beautiful curls. So beautiful that many a stranger has said, "Oh, SHE's so beautiful!" Hubby can only hear that so many times before he demands a haircut. Ok, so he didn't demand necessarily, but he did vow to not cut his hair until Jr.'s first cut. I wanted my hubby to stay employed, so I suggested we get it cut this weekend.
I found one of those cutesy, kid-friendly salons with obnoxious puppets on tv, lots of loud colors, seat belts on the chairs, and every stylist's pockets full of lollipops. Even with all the appropriately distracting environmental stimuli, I wasn't convinced this haircut would occur without incident. Remember our last ride in an airplane? I pictured a wildly crazed devil baby, screaming, kicking, and even biting (he recently may have picked that up in daycare). Jr. hates getting water in his ears and on his face, so I was sure that would be the trigger. I loaded my purse with a cup of apple juice, pacifier, gummy fruit snacks, and matchbox cars. My plan was to keep shoving things in his mouth (ok, probably not the matchbox cars) until something worked or the haircut was over.
Here's how it went:
No problems at all. There was a very cleverly placed television playing a strange cartoon figure (I'm still not sure if he was a scissor or a wishbone) and his friends singing nonsense songs. My poor tv deprived boy was mesmerized by scissor/wishbone-man. It took about five minutes to give him a trim (I insisted on keeping some curls). Before he could even squirm, the stylist handed him his prize-claim card and we were out the door.
Or, almost out the door. He spotted some cars and trains in the waiting area. Even after allowing him to play five minutes and offering up the treasures in my purse, we couldn't avoid a tantrum. So stinkin' close.