"Johnny Unitas - there's a haircut you could set your watch to."
Abbie and I got haircuts yesterday. We didn’t just do the job with a pair of sewing scissors or an apparatus that sucks your hair into a razor like an evil DustBuster. We visited an actual business and paid trained people real money to cut our hair, in spite of the way we now look.
This trip was noteworthy for two reasons. First, it was Abbie’s first ever professional haircut. Before we cut her hair ourselves with the aforementioned sewing scissors whenever her bangs started affecting her vision. We usually only trim the bangs because I want to let her grow out her long blond hair. It’s about shoulder-length now, and flows majestically in the breeze when she runs at full toddler speed. Of course the longer the hair, the easier the tangles develop, and nothing short of cutting off her Goldfish supply makes her scream harder than brushing out tangles. It’s worth it to keep her hair long because she looks cuter that way. Plus maybe if she doesn’t realize that girls can have short hair, she won’t try to cut the hair on any future Barbies.
I’d been reluctant to take her anywhere for a haircut. I had visions of her throwing an unholy fit as the unfortunate stylist tried to trim her hair, creating an aggravating atmosphere for everyone in the building, including other stylists and customers. This could lead to Abbie being accidentally cut as the stylist desperately tries to trim hair off her thrashing head, or, worse yet, I’d have to leave a large tip at the end to ensure they’d let me back in the building on our next visit.
Yesterday she was with me when I went for my haircut, so I figured we’d give it a try, especially when the stylist who met us at the door volunteered to cut her hair in an act of bravery, or perhaps naivete. The stylist propped Abbie on a booster seat, and I knelt with her to keep her entertained for the entire cut while the stylist did her business. I kept her content by letting her hold a comb, holding her arms away from scissors, and constantly complimenting her on what a great job she was doing. Abbie looked like she wanted to scream several times, but she stayed mostly quiet, apparently opting to bottle it inside for future outbursts. Meanwhile the stylist took her bangs above the eyebrows after snipping a couple stray strands off the sides, possibly so I wouldn’t wonder why I’m paying for a cut to the entire head of hair when she only shortened the bangs.
Afterward, the stylist cut my hair, which brings us to the second noteworthy event: I got a haircut. I normally go a couple months between haircuts, cutting it short and letting it grow until the edges start to curl. This time I went several months between haircuts, possibly getting only my second haircut since the twins came home. I went so long between cuts, I discovered that my whole head of hair will eventually curl, not just the sides. I could an afro to put Napoleon Dynamite to shame if I wanted to.* I haven’t been consciously avoiding a haircut, it just fell far down my list of Ways to Spend Free Time Between Caring for Three Children Under the Age of Three.
I told the stylist I wanted it cut short, and she hacked its length by about half. I wanted it shorter, but I think she could believe that anybody besides a military recruit would want that much hair removed at one time. Obviously she hasn’t cut the hair of many stay-at-home fathers of twins. On our way out, I left a decent tip. I thought Abbie had been well behaved, but I can’t risk banishment from any salons. I still have two more kids that need first haircuts.
* I don’t.
This trip was noteworthy for two reasons. First, it was Abbie’s first ever professional haircut. Before we cut her hair ourselves with the aforementioned sewing scissors whenever her bangs started affecting her vision. We usually only trim the bangs because I want to let her grow out her long blond hair. It’s about shoulder-length now, and flows majestically in the breeze when she runs at full toddler speed. Of course the longer the hair, the easier the tangles develop, and nothing short of cutting off her Goldfish supply makes her scream harder than brushing out tangles. It’s worth it to keep her hair long because she looks cuter that way. Plus maybe if she doesn’t realize that girls can have short hair, she won’t try to cut the hair on any future Barbies.
I’d been reluctant to take her anywhere for a haircut. I had visions of her throwing an unholy fit as the unfortunate stylist tried to trim her hair, creating an aggravating atmosphere for everyone in the building, including other stylists and customers. This could lead to Abbie being accidentally cut as the stylist desperately tries to trim hair off her thrashing head, or, worse yet, I’d have to leave a large tip at the end to ensure they’d let me back in the building on our next visit.
Yesterday she was with me when I went for my haircut, so I figured we’d give it a try, especially when the stylist who met us at the door volunteered to cut her hair in an act of bravery, or perhaps naivete. The stylist propped Abbie on a booster seat, and I knelt with her to keep her entertained for the entire cut while the stylist did her business. I kept her content by letting her hold a comb, holding her arms away from scissors, and constantly complimenting her on what a great job she was doing. Abbie looked like she wanted to scream several times, but she stayed mostly quiet, apparently opting to bottle it inside for future outbursts. Meanwhile the stylist took her bangs above the eyebrows after snipping a couple stray strands off the sides, possibly so I wouldn’t wonder why I’m paying for a cut to the entire head of hair when she only shortened the bangs.
Afterward, the stylist cut my hair, which brings us to the second noteworthy event: I got a haircut. I normally go a couple months between haircuts, cutting it short and letting it grow until the edges start to curl. This time I went several months between haircuts, possibly getting only my second haircut since the twins came home. I went so long between cuts, I discovered that my whole head of hair will eventually curl, not just the sides. I could an afro to put Napoleon Dynamite to shame if I wanted to.* I haven’t been consciously avoiding a haircut, it just fell far down my list of Ways to Spend Free Time Between Caring for Three Children Under the Age of Three.
I told the stylist I wanted it cut short, and she hacked its length by about half. I wanted it shorter, but I think she could believe that anybody besides a military recruit would want that much hair removed at one time. Obviously she hasn’t cut the hair of many stay-at-home fathers of twins. On our way out, I left a decent tip. I thought Abbie had been well behaved, but I can’t risk banishment from any salons. I still have two more kids that need first haircuts.
* I don’t.
posted by Matt at
11:51 PM
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