Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Hat hair

Just after his first birthday, I took Joris to our local hairdresser to get his first haircut. I had been getting comments from strangers on what a cute little girl I had, so it really was time. I don't think I did an adequate job preparing Joris for what was to come and I think the hairdresser was not used to small children, either. He screamed and his hair ended up looking barely adequate.

We then decided to buy a buzzer and do it ourselves. His haircuts now looked significantly less than adequate, but at least we weren't paying any money for them and, best of all, it was not a screaming affair anymore. After getting some practice in, I was starting to feel like I was getting better at it and was actually pretty pleased with the last time I cut his hair. The last time before this actual last time, I mean.


We tried cutting his hair the weekend after coming back from Costa Rica. He had a meltdown mid-buzz and we had to abort the project, unfinished. He walked around with big bites out of the back of his hair for a full week.

On Saturday night, when Joris, Jacob, auntie Chris and I were enjoying listening to carolers at the Greenlake luminary walk, it started snowing. On Sunday morning, after breakfast, we suited Joris up in his snow pants, wool jacket, hat, hood and gloves and took him outside to play in the snow - or so was our plan. It turned out he was intrigued, but seemingly terrified of this "hone" as he kept calling it. He would only be carried by Jacob and any attempt to put his feet on the ground resulted in anguished pleads of "No-no. No. NOOO!!!"

This expression about sums it up:




He did, however have the most magnificent hat hair when we came back inside:


Which convinced me that it really was time to try to finish the job. He did a little better, although it still was a teary affair. And he squirmed and wiggled, which is always good when buzz cutters are involved.

The result is that, well, his hair is shorter. Mostly. There are still random strands of long hair in odd places, but whenever he catches me trying to sneak up with scissors he shakes his head vigorously and says "NO!". There also is a big chunk missing in the back...





Visual evidence of why I will never be a hairdresser. My consolation is that it will grow back and thankfully we took the pictures for our Christmas card before this!

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