A huge thank you for the response on the tantrum seminar I attended. Mostly, I appreciate knowing I'm not the only one with a child who throws enormous fits. I sometimes have it in my head that every other parent is smirking smugly in my general direction because their child would never do that, don't you know. I have a follow-up post to write on how we're dealing with them better (and sometimes not) and all that, but I'll write it later this week.
This post is about Spawnling getting his hair did. While not as informative as my last post, it does have very funny pictures. You're on the internet, so you must like funny pictures. Or maybe porn. That's pretty much all the internet has, really.
Want to see what a three-year-old who's never had a professional hair cut looks like?
Now, want to see what he looks like when you take him to a place that caters to little kids who are terrified of scissors and clippers?
For three years, I've been hacking haphazardly at that child's hair. When he was younger, I would nurse him while snipping here and there, buzzing hither and yon. It never looked great, but it was passable. More recently, he would sit still without the lure of boobs, but with the added enticement of sugary bribes.
All I can say is that I'm glad the boy has a cute face. Otherwise, his hair cut would have mattered a great deal more and I would have been labeled a neglectful mother long ago. Genetics for the win.
I am not a hair stylist -- I've never claimed to be. Talented in many ways am I, but cutting the locks of others is not one of them. It comes as no surprise that I had to learn from experience why we should not give the lollipop before the cut is complete ("Moooooooom! It's full of my haaaaaiiiiiir!") And, while Spawnling would hop off the kitchen stool looking less like a child raised by wolves, he did bear a striking resemblance to a hillbilly version of a Beatles' member.
Basically, if the Beatles had a backwoods banjo player, he would look like Spawnling.
It's not my fault he would scream at the mere sight of a barber's chair, or jump out of my arms and take off at a mad run the second he heard a hair dryer. I can't be blamed for not being able to coax him back into the salon, either. I tried sitting with him, offering him candy, toys, immoral women, a time share in the Caribbean. Nothing worked.
So we waited, and the hack jobs continued by yours truly.
Then, we started hearing about Melonhead from friends who take their children there. Finally, the hair industry is catching on to the cash cow that is terrified kids and their parents with horrific scissor-handling skills. They charge more than the average salon for a cut, but that's because they have cool things like planes and race cars for the kids to sit in. If I could sit in a ride-on toy while I had my hair done I might pay more for that, too.
It sounded like a great place to give it the ol' college try again but we still needed some serious prep. Spawnling is not your average gremlin; he requires special care and handling, especially when there's a deep-rooted fear involved. Therefore, I, Incredible Mother of the Universe (minute hair cutting abilities) slowly worked on him over two days by doing the following:
- showed him the Melonhead website, including pictures in the gallery of happy kids getting their 'dos on
- made sure we were going with a preschooler friend who will happily sit for a hair cut (in this case, his good buddy Dalek, the Dr. Who aficionado)
- reminded him that boys who sit nicely for the stylist get chocolate milk after. Just sayin'
- bribed him with the fact that the mall we went to - has an indoorgerm orgy room playground he and Dalek could visit after their cuts)
Despite the bribery and copious preparation, I expected a fight the minute he laid eyes on the salon. But once he saw the bright colours and array of happy barber chairs, the littlest gremlin eagerly scuttled in. He tried every seat before he found the one: a rocket ship with a good view of Barney singing with his creepy kid posse on the flat screen TVs.
"Did mommy cut your hair, honey?" Linda the friendly hairstylist jokingly asked.
Spawnling sighed "Yeah." (So hard done by, my kid.)
"I can see that. It's um, a little uneven. You tell mommy not to cut your hair anymore, ok?"
"Ok," said Spawnling, and glared at me.
Point taken, Spawnling and Linda the friendly hair stylist. It really was a series of god awful jobs. That's why I'm overjoyed that he'll finally sit for someone else, even if he had to be wooed in by rocket ships.
However, my ego - in full preservation mode - is happy to point out that when hair was getting cut in my kitchen, Spawnling's face never looked quite like this:
Or this:
So there.
In the end, the boy's hairstyle is fab. However, it also made him look more his age, and that makes me feel a bit sad. These years go by so fast. I mean, in the last couple of weeks, my littlest has potty trained and had his first decent hair cut. Meanwhile, my eldest got braces on Tuesday, which is so very teenager of him.
So, like, since everyone's growing up, maybe Gutsy would like to outgrow his tantrums now?
I'm so funny.
This post is about Spawnling getting his hair did. While not as informative as my last post, it does have very funny pictures. You're on the internet, so you must like funny pictures. Or maybe porn. That's pretty much all the internet has, really.
Want to see what a three-year-old who's never had a professional hair cut looks like?
Now, want to see what he looks like when you take him to a place that caters to little kids who are terrified of scissors and clippers?
For three years, I've been hacking haphazardly at that child's hair. When he was younger, I would nurse him while snipping here and there, buzzing hither and yon. It never looked great, but it was passable. More recently, he would sit still without the lure of boobs, but with the added enticement of sugary bribes.
All I can say is that I'm glad the boy has a cute face. Otherwise, his hair cut would have mattered a great deal more and I would have been labeled a neglectful mother long ago. Genetics for the win.
I am not a hair stylist -- I've never claimed to be. Talented in many ways am I, but cutting the locks of others is not one of them. It comes as no surprise that I had to learn from experience why we should not give the lollipop before the cut is complete ("Moooooooom! It's full of my haaaaaiiiiiir!") And, while Spawnling would hop off the kitchen stool looking less like a child raised by wolves, he did bear a striking resemblance to a hillbilly version of a Beatles' member.
Basically, if the Beatles had a backwoods banjo player, he would look like Spawnling.
It's not my fault he would scream at the mere sight of a barber's chair, or jump out of my arms and take off at a mad run the second he heard a hair dryer. I can't be blamed for not being able to coax him back into the salon, either. I tried sitting with him, offering him candy, toys, immoral women, a time share in the Caribbean. Nothing worked.
So we waited, and the hack jobs continued by yours truly.
Then, we started hearing about Melonhead from friends who take their children there. Finally, the hair industry is catching on to the cash cow that is terrified kids and their parents with horrific scissor-handling skills. They charge more than the average salon for a cut, but that's because they have cool things like planes and race cars for the kids to sit in. If I could sit in a ride-on toy while I had my hair done I might pay more for that, too.
It sounded like a great place to give it the ol' college try again but we still needed some serious prep. Spawnling is not your average gremlin; he requires special care and handling, especially when there's a deep-rooted fear involved. Therefore, I, Incredible Mother of the Universe (minute hair cutting abilities) slowly worked on him over two days by doing the following:
- showed him the Melonhead website, including pictures in the gallery of happy kids getting their 'dos on
- made sure we were going with a preschooler friend who will happily sit for a hair cut (in this case, his good buddy Dalek, the Dr. Who aficionado)
- reminded him that boys who sit nicely for the stylist get chocolate milk after. Just sayin'
- bribed him with the fact that the mall we went to - has an indoor
Despite the bribery and copious preparation, I expected a fight the minute he laid eyes on the salon. But once he saw the bright colours and array of happy barber chairs, the littlest gremlin eagerly scuttled in. He tried every seat before he found the one: a rocket ship with a good view of Barney singing with his creepy kid posse on the flat screen TVs.
"Did mommy cut your hair, honey?" Linda the friendly hairstylist jokingly asked.
Spawnling sighed "Yeah." (So hard done by, my kid.)
"I can see that. It's um, a little uneven. You tell mommy not to cut your hair anymore, ok?"
"Ok," said Spawnling, and glared at me.
Point taken, Spawnling and Linda the friendly hair stylist. It really was a series of god awful jobs. That's why I'm overjoyed that he'll finally sit for someone else, even if he had to be wooed in by rocket ships.
However, my ego - in full preservation mode - is happy to point out that when hair was getting cut in my kitchen, Spawnling's face never looked quite like this:
Or this:
So there.
In the end, the boy's hairstyle is fab. However, it also made him look more his age, and that makes me feel a bit sad. These years go by so fast. I mean, in the last couple of weeks, my littlest has potty trained and had his first decent hair cut. Meanwhile, my eldest got braces on Tuesday, which is so very teenager of him.
So, like, since everyone's growing up, maybe Gutsy would like to outgrow his tantrums now?
I'm so funny.