It’s summer and around here that means it time for summer haircuts, for the boys. When Nico was younger, and before he had an opinion about his appearance, he would get a buzz cut for the summer. This was a good solution since he has a head of hair that becomes a soggy mop after swimming, and a wool coat during our long, hot days. Now that Nico is older, he still gets a shorter cut but he does not like the shaved look, so he no longer gets a buzz cut.
However, since Diego is only 6 years-old, I figured that I could still have some say about his hair. Boy, I have never been more wrong about anything in my life. Maybe it’s the influence of his older siblings, or maybe it’s the Justin Bieber and Big Time Rush look, but Diego has definite ideas about his hair. He did not want a buzz cut. No way. I didn’t realize how much his hair meant to him, until this weekend.
Juan had to run some errands and decided to take Diego with him so they could stop and get a haircut. First, they went to the pet store. The pet store had its usual weekend dog and cat adoption fair. And as usual, Juan sent me a text which read “Can we get her?” and attached a photo of one of the dogs. Our dog, Mischief , died last November, and our family has been missing a dog in our lives. But right now? Life is really busy, we may travel on a vacation. I texted Juan back. “Cute dog, but not now.”
Moving along, Juan’s next stop was Supercuts. Juan told the hairstylist that Diego needed a summer haircut. The hairstylist talked with Juan and another hairstylist and they agreed they would use the buzzers at a level 3, but somebody forgot to tell Diego. I am sure if they had, he would have told them he didn’t want his hair short. By the time the hairstylist began buzzing the top of Diego’s hair, it was too late. Diego was mortified. Juan thought it looked cute and smiled at him. This was absolutely the wrong reacation because Diego understood Juan’s smile to mean he was laughing at him. Then, the meltdown started. Big, fat tears rolling down his face. Sobs so thick he choked on them. The hairstylist tried soothing him. Juan tried to calm him. When he realized it was past the point of no return, he carried Diego out of there and drove home. On the way, Juan called me in a panic. He warned me to tell the kids at home not to say a thing when they got home. I went outside and met them in the driveway. Diego’s eyes were swollen, and he was hiccupping from his sobs. He refused to get out of the car, even though it was 90 degrees outside. I promised him he could go through the back door and bypass his sisters inside. We got him in the shower and he continued to cry, curled up in a ball on the shower floor. I could not reason with him. Finally, I told him he had three choices:
1) Stay in the bathroom until his hair grew out.
2) Act like his haircut was not big deal and then others would not think it was a big deal.
3) Wear a hat.
He considered number 1 but decided since he could not play x-Box in the bathroom, locking himself inside was not a viable option. He completely dismissed number 2. He decided that number 3 was the best option, but only if he could wear his army hat.
Of course, I agreed and brought him the hat. (He has not taken that hat off yet, even in church.) Juan had also told Diego that he would take him back to the pet store and look again at the dog he had seen earlier. Juan promised to buy Diego ice cream too. (I know, it’s a lot. Don’t judge me.) So, between the hat, and the promise of ice cream, we finally stopped the haircut meltdown. Oh, and that return trip to the pet store? Well, let’s just say that even though I knew we’d eventually get another dog, I thought we should wait a little while longer. But, how could I have said “Not now” to this face:
And this face.