Hair

We all woke to an actual emergency this morning. No toilet paper. I am a toilet paper expert. I always buy the large 36 roll package and keep extra rolls in a little basket under each bathroom sink. When the little baskets get low, I purchase another large package and restock.

Obviously, this is another ball that I've dropped recently and a rather important one, I might add. So, I wrote toilet paper on the top of my shopping list and left for the store. My husband, realizing that he and the boys were overdue for haircuts, decided they would head out to the barber.  

There I was, enjoying my shopping and browsing. The girls, both homebodies, decided that they did not want to come along, so I had a sliver of quiet time to shop.  I was slowly perusing one of my favorite home stores when I heard my phone beep, alerting me that I had a message. I pulled it out and opened the message from my husband. It was a photo of our youngest son, Colton, sitting in the barber chair with a mohawk and a giant smile on his face. I was frantic. I pulled myself off to the side and tried to call my husband, no answer.  I called again. This time he answered with, "I can't talk now. I'm in the chair getting my hair cut."  I think I managed a, "You better get the little one back in the chair," before he hung up. I was fuming and helpless.

All of a sudden, in the blink of an eye, my peaceful shopping experience turned stressful and I could not imagine my husband actually leaving the barber shop with my baby sporting a mohawk.  That's what I kept telling myself....We always act as a team and he just wants to push my buttons. There's no way that he would actually go through with a mohawk on a 7 year old without discussing it with me first. He's just trying to get my goat. I'm sure they fixed it before they left.

I got home, unloaded my things and right behind me, the door opened and in struted the little guy, still wearing that big, beautiful grin. There he was, my baby, looking like a small social rebel and so proud of his little mohawk. I started to cry. My husband, John Wayne, was hiding down the hall, waiting for the storm to blow over. He obviously sent the cute, little one in to break the ice and was hoping that I'd cool down before he walked in. Not so much. When he saw my face, he just burst out laughing - more out of fear and nerves. I had not taken his little "joke" as well as he'd hoped. I do have a pretty good sense of humor, but this has taken me over the edge.

"How could you?" I asked. "He's a little boy and I'm his mother. You should have talked to me first." 

"It's summer.  It's just for fun.  We were making memories. He'll never forget how fun this haircut was, " he tells me.  

Colton, sensitive to my feelings, says, "It's okay, mom, I'll just jump in the pool and wash it off."  Bless his little heart!  When I explained, as nicely as I could, that his little haircut would not just wash off, he had another solution. "Okay, dad, just make me bulbed.  I didn't want to be bulbed, but now I think I should be bulbed."  With this, I burst out laughing at his attempts to "fix" the problem. Colton can't say "bald" and just the sound of his little voice asking to be "bulbed" gave me the visual of a little light bulb, which is exactly what his bald little head would look like.  

Seeing that I was not the least bit amused by his little hair-cut surprise, my husband took off for the tack shed to get his horse shears. He quickly shaved off the back of Colton's mohawk, so at least he didn't have a tail.

Now, my baby is sporting the remnants of a mohawk and my husband has been saved, again, by grace.