It’s been two days since ‘the incident’ and I’m only now able to talk about it. It shook me to my core, almost brought me to tears in the middle of a shopping centre and I’m still not sure that I like it, but I’m learning to live with it. Paddy got a haircut. Not just any haircut, not just a trim of a few curls here and there, a full on haircut. He could probably go into BWS and get a slab and not get asked for ID. He definitely could front up to grade prep in term three. How did this happen? Well, I’m glad you asked.
We’ve been over visiting my mum before jets off to the US of A and since we had the boys outnumbered, we thought we’d try a few of the more mundane things like getting haircuts and new shoes. Ordinary enough pursuits you’d think – well for some people, probably, but for us, it was a bit trickier.
Usually when I get my hair done, the boys come in and get a trim. That’s it, just a trim. Because my life long hairdresser and friend knows that that is all I want for their hair, just to keep it tidy but not too styled. Perfect. Except, they absolutely hate getting their hair done. Flat out refuse to put the cape on and twist and squirm and spin around whilst she jumps around trying to be as quick as she possibly can be. Last time, after screaming and twisting so much that no amount of lollies or screen time could fix, I declared that they were never getting a hair cut ever again.
But Shane thought he’d give it a crack. We discussed tactics the night before and he said ‘have you ever given them your phone to watch something on?’ Oh genius idea Shane. Of course I’ve tried that. But given that they think he hangs the sun every morning, we agreed that he might have better luck. So off he goes, taking Bede up to check out the hairdressers and talking it up like it’s going to be amazing. No luck. Noone can pull the wool over Bede’s eyes, but his fringe is getting pretty close to impacting on his vision. There was no way, no how that he was fronting up to the scissors. So I decided to take him to try shoes on whilst Shane tried to get Paddy in the chair; divide and conquer and all that.
Bede was just as adamant that he was not going to get shoes as he was about his hair cut but given that his gumboots, his shoe of choice, had holes in them and were not the best shoes to wear to every occasion, I was determined to persuade him some new kicks would be ace. God bless the shop assistant, he was amazing and tried his darndest. He valiantly attempted to strike up a rapport with his little customer by talking about his Captain America jumper and asking about the sting ray figurine I’d stupidly agreed to buy before the shoes were in the bag but Bede is one determined little man. He thrashed his feet, put his head down and flat out refused to engage in any conversation let alone allow me, mum or the shop assistant to try the shoes on him. A crowd had gathered, it was getting serious. I said ‘mum, I’ll hold his leg and you shove it on’ much to the distress of the shoe salesman because this was surely against all his training and ‘best practice’ but we got it on nonetheless and in the space of 1.5 seconds decided it was perfect fit and we’d take them. Once the transaction was complete, Bede asked where his lollipop was – he hadn’t forgotten that he’d been promised one if he was a good boy. Evidently our definitions of ‘good’ differ significantly. He has been heard retelling the story that because he was such a good boy when he got his new shoes, he got a lollipop and all. Oh man.
So after surviving this, I took a phone call from Shane who said that Paddy was awesome at getting his hair done and was now having a ride on the coin machine bus thing in the shopping centre. I must admit I was impressed that he had got his hair done and was prepared to give Shane some glory. Until…
I recognized Shane’s figure standing next to the bus ride in question but I couldn’t work out where Paddy was or who the kid sitting in the back was. Horror of all horrors, it was Paddy. He was sitting up in the bus as proud as punch that ‘it wasn’t so bad after all’ and that he had ‘sat very still’ and got a balloon and a lollipop for his troubles. When the shock had passed enough for me to talk and I had resisted the urge to break down in great heaving sobs, I said to Shane ‘why didn’t you tell them to stop?’ And I stand by that. Gone were his beautiful long curls and with them, his baby face. Mum, ever the diplomat, said ‘oh I think it’s nice you can see his beautiful big eyes better now’. On the plus side, he probably won’t need another haircut for a good 6 months.
And for the record, we ended that day with one pair of shoes and one haircut, two out of four ain’t bad.