The younger boys still needed hair cuts. Tornado S had school pictures this week. My friend agreed to photograph the boys for their yearly pictures. It just had to be done this weekend.
After I signed in the boys, I looked in my wallet. I had only a large bill that the sign at the register said they couldn’t take. I sighed and asked their father if he had any change or if he could go break the bill he had given me in the first place. He told me he’d go get me the weekly funds as soon as we had Tornado S settled.
Tornado S hated getting his haircut. At four years old, it was only the last haircut that he didn’t cry and fuss and demand I hold him throughout the ordeal. But Tornado S was a big boy now. He climbed into the seat by himself as Tornado A was called for his haircut. As I walked by Tornado S’s seat, the hair dresser asked their father what kind of haircut Tornado S was getting. As though he knew.
I said with the confidence of only a seasoned veteran with considerable amounts of experience could muster, “He needs a 2 razor.” I walked by holding Tornado A, smiling at Tornado S.
I sat down in the chair and was caped. Tornado A started fussing as he was caped, trying to climb the summit of the top of my head. The hair dresser and I worked to soothe Tornado A. I glanced at the mirror. Tornado S nodded to his father’s question, and Tornado E and their father walked out of the hair cut place.
I turned back to calming Tornado A.
“Isn’t that funny?! Do you want your hair like that?! We should show your Mommy!”
I looked in the mirror. The hair dresser had taken the razor straight down Tornado S’s head. It did look funny. A little on the short side, but Tornado S’s hair was pretty shaggy. Well, no going back now.
I turned my attention back to Tornado A, who squirmed but had stopped crying. His hair dresser used the scissors, waiting until Tornado A was still and then a quick snip. The hair dresser was patient. He was the best hair dresser I had ever seen with small children, and we talked about small kids and haircuts and the like.
The boys were done at the same time. But I still didn’t have the money. Tornado A’s hair dresser told us we could wait in the waiting room, letting the boys enjoy suckers. It was then I got a good look at Tornado S.
Oh My God! Where was his hair?!!
Tornado S: MAMA!!!! I’M BALD!!!!
He buried his face in my lap, sobbing. I wanted to sob too! What was I thinking?! A 2 razor! My brown-eyed, brunette’s handsome locks were gone. GONE! And he was horrified. And it was all my fault! No one should listen to me about haircuts!
I rubbed his back, blinking back my own tears.
Me: It’s ok, baby. You look handsome. Don’t worry. It’ll grow back. Hair grows. And you look good. I promise.
He looked up at me with big brown eyes, filled with tears, smiling at me. And then he burst into tears again.
I am a horrible mom!
I rubbed his back, whispering soothing words that weren’t soothing.
Tornado E burst into the room. Tornado S looked up.
Tornado E: Tornado S! You look funny!
Tornado S burst into tears again.
I gave Tornado E a look.
Their father: What happened?
Me: Wrong razor number. Doesn’t he look handsome? And cute?
Tornado S looked up, gave a brave smile, and then threw himself at his father for another cry. I pulled Tornado E aside.
Me: (in a fierce whisper) Did Tornado S make fun of you when you shaved your head? (Tornado E shook his head.) What you said was not nice. It hurt his feelings. You need to make it better.
Tornado E walked over to Tornado S.
Tornado E: Tornado S! Tornado S! You look good! Your hair looks good! You know what! Darth Vader is bald too! You look like Darth Vader!
Both boys beamed at each other and bounced around.
Tornado S: Mama! I look like Darth Vader!
Let us all agree that I am not allowed to walk into the hair dresser’s without a picture of what I want in my hand.