A Shave Too Close

Determined not to allow me to relax until the latest possible hour, my two seven year old children usually decide that they are hungry, just as I put my feet up for the night.   However, this fetching and fussing over them allows me to feel more Mammy-like, so I don't really mind.  My two tend to graze, eating little and often.  These late snacks fill that gap and are usually something healthy, homemade and comforting.  Domestic bliss, or what ?

Last night, I was on the usual Last Orders duties.  I was vaguely aware of Leon asking me if he could cut his hair.  He often snips at this hair, with his handiwork being barely visible, so I don't pass much remarks.  A haircut was scheduled for this weekend, so a little advance snipping would get the ball rolling.  Anyway, I like my children to experiment and let them try things out, so I said 'okay'.  I can't say that I recall telling him to take it easy though ...

While I was perfecting the toasties in the kitchen and pottering around, my boy hacked the head off himself, with the sharpest scissors in the house.  Oh holy Harry.

The lights were dimmed in the sitting room, so the full extent of what he did wasn't apparent.  The give away was the rather large plate of hair stacked in front of him.  I gulped and marched him down to the bathroom, with his sister Mya shrieking with laughter.

It was a lot worse than I first realised.  How he didn't cut his scalp, I don't know.  I couldn't keep a straight face.  I couldn't but laugh, but I also wanted to cry.  My beautiful boy looked like he had been attacked with a blunt knife.  All under my watch ...

I called a friend who has a hair clippers.  We hopped in the car and an emergency remedial haircut was carried out.  Unfortunately, Leon hacking was so severe, that even a no. 1 haircut couldn't cover up the damage.


I gave him a shower when we got home, hoping that a good shampooing would soften the effect.  It didn't.  My laughing stopped and I started to feel guilty.  I DID know he has a scissors ...

When other grown up came home later, I suggested that he might want to peep in at his boy.  'What the f*** happened him ?!' was the not-unexpected reaction.  'Where were you when he did that to himself?'  I put on my little girl voice.  'I was here.  I told him he could cut his hair'.  I mumbled words about self expression and learning by experience.  I felt irresponsible and a bit guilty.  What was I thinking ???

We both worried that Leon would get laughed at in school today.  His remedial no. 1 haircut was pretty dramatic, so there was no hiding that something had happened.  He looks part escaped convict and part kid with major head surgery.  There wasn't a bother on him going to school, apart from the fact that his favourite school t-shirt that he was wearing last night was covered in hair.  Apparently that was my fault and was the thing that he gave me grief about.

Today was the children's Christmas trip.  They attended a rather fabulous performance 'A Most Peculiar Wintry Thing' in Riverbank Arts Centre, where I work.  I popped out of my office to say hello.  Leon's teacher has seen my post on Facebook last night about the offending 'do.  She reassured me that his classmates hadn't particularly noticed anything, apart from the tight haircut.  My heart lifted.  Queuing to go into the theatre, Leon smiled at me, excited that he was 'at Mammy's work' with his classmates.  I could see that he wasn't bothered about the haircut.

My boy is blessed with a big thick head (of hair), inherited from me.  I'm sure that he will thank me for that in years to come.  I know that the 'incident' will be unnoticeable in a few weeks time, except from my invisible scars from the trauma.  For now, I'll enjoy rubbing his lovely, spikey little head.  The monkey.