Of course, it's a miracle I didn't get arrested yesterday because...
wait for it...
I made Nick get a HAIRCUT!
Really, I don't deserve to be a mother.
As you can tell from Monday's post, our beautiful boys needed haircuts. George, a former Air Force officer who shaves his head completely bald, gets twitchy when his offsprings' hair touches their ears or collars. He demands they get haircuts and leaves it to me to execute the order.
He's a coward.
Jack actually has no problem with haircuts. In fact, at the barber shop last year, he saw a man getting a crew cut and said, "I want my hair cut like that guy!"
Nick, on the other hand, begins wailing and gnashing his teeth immediately upon the mere suggestion of getting a haircut, begging to get out of it and generally pitching a fit. As you can imagine, it isn't any better on the drive to the barber shop. He sobs, kicks the seat, and hurts my ears with his cries of despair. Meanwhile, Jack helpfully asks, "What's the matter, Nick?"
Monday morning, I sprang our trip to the barber on Nick suddenly to minimize my suffering, if not his. I also announced my intention to take pictures. He was subdued on the drive, sniffling quietly rather than pitching a full-blown fit. I was surprised. At the barber shop, I took this picture. Jack was trying to cheer his brother up. Nick was having nothing to do with it, but he also wouldn't look particularly upset either.
When he climbed into the barber's chair, I told him to look sad. He said, "NO!" The barber told him to pose for the picture, and he said, "No, she's just going to put it on her blog!"
Can't put anything over on this kid.
The other kid, however, was having a wonderful time having his long locks shorn.
In the end, Jack was, of course, happy with his super short do. I have to get more creative to torture him, such as offering him a turkey cheese dog instead of a regular cheese dog...the turkey ones are a different color, and he's convinced I'm trying to POISON HIM. Ah, I love the sound of the screams.
Nick, however, wouldn't even let me take a picture of his do. That's quite a flinch he's developed, don't you think?
So there you go. I torture my firstborn with trips to the barber shop AND THEN BLOG ABOUT IT. When he's full grown, his therapist is going to have a wonderful time with this.
I will, however, sleep with an easy heart, knowing my son's hair is NO LONGER MY RESPONSIBILITY and that I had some fun with his histrionics.