0 Pretty Boy

As a parent there are some battles I just won't fight. And hair is about at the top of that list. I've always been extremely lax about the kids' hair. But, I've always made a firm policy that while one does not have to brush his or her hair, teeth brushing is indeed mandatory. So, when Sky wanted a mohawk in 2nd grade, I let him. And when he decided to grow an afro, I was equally permissive. I feel like it's their hair and if that's how they want to express themselves or rebel.  Well, cool.  (Although I've heard just recently the term cool is totally uncool, which makes me want to use it even more.)

Just because I allow them to experiment with their hair does not mean I like all of their coifs. But why do I have to like it?  I don't have to wear it all day.  And so what if it looks horrible?  I know I did more of my fair share of bad hair.  After all, I grew up in the 80's and I not only had a mullet, but I had  huge New Jersey mall hair at my wedding!   But, before I had either of those I had the pixie haircut. Which is just a cute name for a traditional boys hair cut worn by a girl. The problem was, I was so convincing in this haircut, I was often mistaken for a boy. Well, that and my collection of worms, jeans with the knees blown out, the baseball shirt that I wore constantly, combined with the fact that I had absolutely no chest when all my friends had already sprouted theirs.  My hair and I?  We've never been friends.

 

I don't remember when River decided to grow his hair out. At first when he developed a little shag, it looked edgy.  Very hangin'-at-the-skateparkesque.  Then it got longer and his hand was constantly pushing his stands away from his eyes.  As it grew even longer, he had to hold his bangs back when he ate dinner because it grazed his food otherwise.  We hassled him to put it into a pony tail before we ate to resolve this issue, but it became just one more thing to nag him about.  Not only that then I had to nag him to wash it and condition it and brush it.  Which doesn't sound like much until you remember he's a 12 year old boy and I still have to nag him to flush the toilet after he pees. 

So I reminded him repeatedly that he must take care of his hair or we'd shave it off.  I threatened that several times.  I know I should have followed through, but I never did. I was convinced he needed to make the choice of when he was ready to part with his dry, stringy, split end ridden locks and stop being mistaken for a girl. But as the months progressed. he didn't budge, I grew more wary that he may never decide it was time and he would just continue to grow it. Then my fears escalated.  Maybe he'd convert and become a Sikh and start wearing it in a turban. And the turban was starting to look like a good alternative to me.

Until this past Monday when I reminded him for the 100th time to actually use shampoo on his hair next time he showered.  And out of nowhere he told me he was ready to cut it. Sweet Jesus! Finally! YES! His sisters and brothers stopped chattering in shock, but the whole family was staunchly supportive of his decision. Without hesitation or giving River time to retract his statement, Craig got out the clippers and started to work.  The kids gathered around and carefully studied his face for signs of Post Traumatic Tress Disorder (PTTD). Which is absolutely ridiculous, because it's just way too soon for that.   We should at least give it a week or two.

We thought we'd have some fun with it though and give him a chance to choose another hairstyle other than shaving it all off.  Like the mullet.  Thank god River didn't decide to keep it, because I was having a little PTTD of my own just looking at him.    

And when it was done...

...we had a Maltese!  Jade was so happy cause she's always wanted a dog.   And I don't even need to feed, water or walk it.  Now I guess we don't need to get that real dog I promised them when we move home.  Damn it, I am aren't I?    

Now all I'm left with is my pretty boy. Although, I should probably stop calling him pretty.  It just sounds so girly.