Monday, May 17, 2010

How to Traumatize Your Kids 101

I took my 2 year old son to get a haircut on Saturday. He'd had one cut before but he was just a wee lad at 6 months. He did fine then, but there really isn't much one can do at that age.

We walk into the shop and I sit down on the wooden bench beneath the windows. I watch quietly while two other men come and go before anyone asks me if I needed a cut. I tell them no but my son does, I'm sure that it's obvious because his hair hangs past his eyes. This seems like a sharp bunch, and for a split second I think about leaving.

I bring my son over to the chair and as soon as I set him down he starts to freak out. The girl starts to cry and says over and over "I can't do this, I can't do this!" Right about this time I look around and notice that all these people in here look like they've all been on Meth at one time or another. So I pick up my son and hold him close, his woobie is there to comfort him and we get ready to leave. I hear a voice from the back say "I can do it." I ask him if he's sure and he said "I've done this before".

Within seconds I have a cape around me and I'm sitting in the chair holding Shay. The trauma starts again, him crying and throwing his arms and legs about. All of a sudden I see the clippers go into his hair and I know there isn't any turning back. We fight, arrange, reposition, squeeze, hold, comfort, repeat until the man says he's done. I stand up and dust the hair off myself and Shay. The hair is everywhere, I mean everywhere. Shay has it in his mouth and eyes and I have it stuck to my face. I reach into my pocket and pay the $6 and in return I get "all that and no tip?" I thought to myself, here's a tip fucker. Don't insult the customers while they're standing in front of you. At this moment in time I'm not worried about tipping anyone, I just want to get myself and my son out of the place.

We walk out and get to the car, I sit him in the front seat and try to get the hair off him. I know how irritating it is to have cut hair in your shirt. I brush him off, calm him down and promise that mommy will never take him back to that low class methadone clinic again. As we gather our stuff from the car, I undress him and take him to the bathroom. He sits in the tub and lets me rinse the hair from his face and body and smiles at me. I feel better, I know that he still loves me and it's the bad man with the clippers that scares him.

I know that this isn't the end. The haircut was shitty, laughable even. His bangs had a two inch difference from one side to the other. I could have done a better job with my eyes closed and no thumbs. I plan to cut the rest of his hair myself.

I wrap him in towels and start to play with him. I make silly noises and get him to smile, he still knows whats going on. The first few minutes were OK, he just didn't have the endurance to make it till the end. Daddy is helping, this makes it easier. I finish, and his cut looks good. Once again, I undress him and take him to the bathroom. I set him in the tub and rinse him off. He's pissed this time, he cries every time I touch him. Eventually he relaxes and he's clean. I pick him up and dry him off. Clean night shirt and fresh diaper, he lays down on the floor with his woobie. He looks at me and smiles, I know he still loves me, it's the bad mommy with the clippers that scares him.



  1. Poor kid. When I was in junior high, we lived next door to a physician with small children. Whenever "daddy doctor" had to give the kids an injection, "daddy" would comfort them and dry their tears.

  2. The things we have to do to our children. It would be much easier if all we had to do was feed them and change their clothes every other day.

    Of course I'm kidding when I say this...

  3. Poor Kimmeh, poor Shay :-( . Crummy way to start the weekend!

  4. You never take me to get my hair cut!!!! :D

  5. You never asked! I would tho, I'd even give you a dum-dum for being a good girl.