Several years ago, I decided I was sick of paying people to cut my kids’ hair. Early one morning, I fetched my husband’s hair clippers and went to town on Jack’s long golden locks. The only mistake?
I didn’t use a guard.
I didn’t know what those things were for.
So I skipped them.
I quickly realized my egregious error along with the fact that guards are meant to keep you from balding your own child. Sadly, this vital tidbit came too late as my son now looked like a Magic 8 Ball.
Luckily, Jack was only 4 at the time and could care less about his hair. Still for me, it was an important life lesson on leaving things to “the professionals.”
A lesson I have consistently ignored.
I once gave my own brother Jim Carrey’s Dumb & Dumber haircut the day before his high school pictures. It has been 25 years, but he still gets choked up just thinking about it.
My husband once asked that I trim the back of his hair before starting the fire academy. Afterwards?
I found him googling divorce attorneys.
How idiotic does a mom have to be to cling to the distorted belief that she has an aptitude for hair? Even when all overwhelming evidence points to the contrary?
So then came Monday night.
Joey’s first grade pictures were Tuesday.
He needed a trim.
OH NO SHE DIDN’T.
I totally did.
My husband was due home within hours and I panicked, understanding that this time there would be no believable explanation for the disaster at hand. That disaster was our little boy’s head.
He looked like the secret love child of Albert Einstein and Pat Benatar.
Joey and I raced over to Great Clips where I could not fork over my $10 fast enough.
Thankfully, there is no photographic evidence to dispute my promises to my husband to never shorn the children again.
And yet …
Danny’s sideburns are starting to look alarmingly long.
Now where did I put those scissors?