One of the many ways in which we save money these days is by giving the boys hair cuts. It didn’t start this way. For Aidan’s first hair cut and then the proceeding two years of hair cuts, we took him to a hair salon. Honestly, calling it a hair salon is generous but you understand where I’m going. We paid $16 or so per cut plus tip. Until one weekend when I took him in, showed the woman a photo of what I wanted, and she proceeded to give him a hair cut that looked nothing like my photo.
After that, I took myself to Target and bought a set of clippers vowing to learn how to cut his hair. The first hair cut proved I had no business cutting hair. Seriously. That shit involves geometry, knowledge of clippers, use of scissors near a unpredictable child’s face, and the knowledge that whatever you mess up, your child has to deal with in public – often times with you.
Obviously Alan took the clippers, fixed my mistakes and we have never looked back.
Just the other weekend after Alan finished cutting Aidan’s hair, Bash took it upon himself to yell at us and then try to climb up on the stool where his brother had just been sitting. After a few minutes of trying to save his life and also beg him to stop yelling, we figured out that what he wanted was his own trim. He sat perfectly still. I tried not to cry.
Those curls are going to go soon. They are a sweet reminder of my tiny, velcro baby who is slowly but surely growing into a boy and breaking his momma’s heart along the way just to make it grow bigger. Time may move faster than I want it to but this moment has been frozen and documented, shared and enjoyed, and I will clutch to it until the day we take off those baby curls.