This weekend, I tried to cut Jeffrey’s hair. A trip to the barber is out of the (ha!) budget right now, so I dug out the clippers, and convinced him to let me attack his giant red haystack.
What’s that about the best of intentions?
When I turned the clippers on and they made that jarring chunka-chunka noise instead of a smooth humm, that should have been my first clue. But no. I popped Jeff on the bathroom counter, put the longest guard on the chunka-clippers and began to buzz.
Jeffrey immediately began to complain, twitching and hunching and leaning away from me and my evil clippers. The hair was going down his shirt. OK, so I got him a towel. The hair was already downhis shirt. OK, I took his shirt off, and re-smocked him in the towel. I got the towel on backwards, and now he was itchy. OK. Deep breath. Brushing him off with the chunka-clipper included brush thingy, I went back to his hair.
Now he was wiggling, leaning, shrinking and complaining. Going well? nope. But again, I heeded the warning signs not, and plowed on, me and the chunka-clippers. I kept trying to get him to sit up straight, and he kept leaning farther and farther away. I was getting mad, he was getting mad, the clippers had been mad from the get-go.
When he turned his little face, sprinkled with freckles and full of anger at me, I lost my cool. OK, I never had it at all, but that’s when I really dropped my basket. Picking him up and plunking him on the floor, I told him Fine, he could have half a haircut. I didn’t care. It would have been hard to tell who was the six-year old in the room, had you been a fly on the wall.
Obstinate little man he is, he stood his ground, and told me he hated me. I threw the towel at him and told him to get out of the bathroom. Yeah. Finest. Moment. Ever.
We both ended up crying, and I crawled under his quilt in bed, where he was hiding, and we hugged it out. I promised, cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die, I will never, ever, ever, ever give him a haircut again. We agreed that I am, without a doubt, a “poo-poo head hair cutter”. That is a direct quote.
Anyone else have some fine parenting moments? Surely, I am not alone in sucking sometimes at this whole mom thing. Surely…?