Before Ester was upon us with all those cameras and pictures, I figured I better get the boys groomed as my husband asked why we were bringing the ‘70’s shag look back. The boys had needed haircuts back before we moved, so they were in pretty bad shape, especially Sean as he’s still young enough to have those thin baby locks. But my parental backup was safely ensconced in California; while, I debated if I could take the boys myself as Sean was in that screaming phase of fear that someone was going to cut his ears off. Never mind that nothing bad has ever happened to either boy in the barber chair, they both had a healthy fear of haircuts, sort of like the healthy fear of dentists
In my debate and wisdom, I asked Evan what he thought about going to get his haircut. He was against it, though he admitted that he wouldn’t mind going if Papi went too. Ah-ha! That cinched it. Dad, you’ve been drafted. And he wonders why he and my mom are getting custody of my boys if something should happen to my husband and I.
With the sun shining, my boys securely buckled in their seats, my dad and I drove to the haircut place, not breathing a word of our little adventure. It was only once we parked in the strip mall that my dad mentioned something about it as he walked though the parking lot, holding Evan’s hand. Evan demanded a toy for his potential pain and suffering, and Papi agreed that some sort of compensation was warranted and pointed to the drug store at the corner, mentioning that they carried toys.
In the cheap hair-cutting place, I signed the boys up, getting an estimated time for their appointment. Ten minutes wasn’t bad when you brought a small toy chest, a small library, and enough snacks for the hour. As we settled the boys down with toys, Evan jumped up, yelling “OHMYGOSH! I’ve got to go poop!”
My dad and I looked at each other. I found it slightly odd that Evan had to go poop since he had done his once-a-day bowel movement an hour before, but one does not argue with the waste system of a three year old.
“Dad, I forgot to bring the potty,” I whispered.
“I’m sure they have a restroom or over at another store,” he said.
“I don’t think I can get Evan to trust a big potty yet.” I thought of the large gapping hole of a public toilet. “I’ll take him and run home. We should be back in time, but could you watch Sean, please?”
As I lived only two blocks away, I knew with any luck we would be back before Sean was finished. I grabbed Evan’s hand and escorted him out of the barber.
When we got two yards away, Evan started skipping. When we got three yards away, Evan exclaimed, “Let’s go look at the toys now!”
I stopped and bent down to look Evan square in the air. “Do you have to go poop?”
“Did you just want to leave and look at toys?”
“We don’t tell stories about when we need to go potty. We don’t tell stories so that we can leave a place we don’t want to be. We always tell the truth. Do you understand?”
“Now we have to get your haircut. You have to go first because you’re the big brother. Seanny is scared, so you have to show him how easy it is. THEN we can go look at toys.”
Evan was a pro. And so was Sean. As I paid for the haircuts, the cute little stylist handed the boys a Frisbee each.
“No, thank you,” declined Evan. “I want a sucker instead!”
“Take it. I’ll get you a sucker after we leave,” I said without using a “damn” in the sentence.
As we left, passing a coffee shop. I heard the nickname that is prominent amoung my family. As it has to do with our last name, usually given by a male comrade or team member, I stopped to listen to the voice, the deep powerful male voice. With a glance, I confirmed it was for my father as the gentleman in question had “cop” written all over him.
Because my dad stopped to talk and Evan kept going, I chased Evan, yelling, “red light.” When Sean and I caught up with Evan, I told him, “Papi is talking with a friend. We have to wait here.”
Evan looked at me with a cocked head. “A friend like a Frisbee?”
“No, a friend like a police officer.”
Without further extraordinary incidences, my dad and I were able to herd the boys into the drug store and out with a box of blue bunny Peeps.
“They’re going to get all sticky, you know,” my dad said as he looked back to watch the boys suck off the sugar as I drove him home.
“Little boys wash. Besides I thought my mom would like a big hug and kiss from her boys.”
With a laugh my dad said, “You’re too much like me for your own good.”