A few years ago I purchased a set of hair clippers.  I was fed up with the cost of the kids’ haircuts.  Their hair grows insanely fast.  Ditto for my husband.  He was always so busy that he would go weeks past what he should in terms of hair.  He has a head of thick, glorious hair that quickly turns into “can you even get a hat over all that?”

One of the consequences of being a single income family is that you don’t really have extra money for those little things.  Haircuts for five people can run into some cash, and we would rather have Internet than pretty hair I guess.  I average 3 to 4 cuts a year, whether I need them or not, ha ha.  I have learned to time them before holidays, which are prime picture taking time.  Thankfully we have a salon in town that is very reasonable, as in under $20 even if you tip well.

However, the cheapest barber found other opportunities.  I figured, how hard could it be to cut the boys hair?

Famous last words.  The kids definitely prefer a barber.  Tater finally got past the squirmies because he knew he would get a popsicle or some treat when we were done.  Linus?  There is no amount of “motivation” to make him hold still.

Their hair had gotten long and unruly.  I mean cowlicks sticking up, disappearing eyebrows, really bad stuff.  There was no making it sit down.  Not to mention little boys and shampoo?  They really don’t see the need for it, even though Linus still has those days where he ends up with food in his hair.

I looked at Tater’s hair and told him “I am gonna shear you like a sheep!”

“A sheep?” he asks, with a certain amount of trepidation.

“I’m just kidding.  I am going to give you an Army hair cut.”

And I did.  That boy doesn’t have much hair left.  He has his father’s nice thick hair.  While typically I like to give the boy a preppy look to suit his style, that wasn’t an option at this point.

When I finished, he ran to the mirror, he exclaimed “it doesn’t even look like me!”  Thankfully he didn’t sound too disappointed about it.

“Your turn, Linus!”

Talk about a moving target.  This boy has my baby fine hair, and some wicked cowlicks.  I favor the Dutch Boy look for him, but now that he is anti-hygiene, we can’t really pull it off.  Plus it was sticking up a lot.

I tried just using the scissors on top.  He was ducking and dodging like he was in a boxing match.  I gave up on it being even.  He began to break out in a mysterious rash from his own hair clippings touching his neck after he pulled off his towel cape.

The end result?  Well, it won’t be on the cover of GQ.  I am not sure if I can fix it before preschool graduation (photo op) myself.  This might require a professional.  Although I could always shear him like a sheep too.

The baby’s haircut didn’t go too badly last week.  His bangs were getting caught in his eyelashes and his ears had disappeared.  He came out with a ton of hair, and now is sporting a baby mullet.  Every time I tried to snip at the back, he jerked his head to see.  Hubby thinks the tail is cute.  I think the baby is a few inches away from singing “Achy Breaky Heart” but so it goes.

My bangs are almost past my nose.  One might think I am growing out.  Heck, I might be at this point.  However, with summer and gardening season coming up, the need for a hair cut isn’t that pressing.  I can throw in a scrunchie, top it with a baseball cap or my straw hat, and make fashion mavens across the land shudder in disdain.

Because while I might cut my family’s hair, I did make a solemn vow to my stylist to never take scissors to my own hair again.

But that is a whole different tale!