There I was in bed last night wondering about my blog post for today. What would I tell you about? I didn't have anything much planned for today. I had a random thought about taking Aiden to Balmoral Beach and me getting a coffee, but the weather turned out to be yuk and I wasn't sure if I would be able to get the car out of the garage. Stupid garage door. Then I thought I would go up to the shops and get some ingredients to make dinner. Yep. It's go, go, go here.
I had decided I wouldn't tell you about any child related stuff. That could be a little banal, despite my sister telling me today "we" find it entertaining. I believe she is referring to her and Mum who must wonder how Aiden and Charlie survive considering "I'm not that kind of mummy".
So I'm not going to tell you about the ongoing saga to get Aiden's hair cut. I'm not going to tell you about how every time we go to get his hair cut, he throws the biggest tantrum and we end up with tiny pieces of white, white hair EVERYWHERE. And I'm not going to tell you about the tears and the slobber that ends up on me, and on Aiden. Nope. Not going to tell you about that. I'm also not going to tell you about how we always end up at the same hairdresser where you don't need to make an appointment and how we always end up there on the weekend where the haircut costs $27, JUST BECAUSE ITS THE WEEKEND!! FOR A TODDLER HAIRCUT!!!
One of my mother's group friends has a lovely little girl who she takes to get her hair cut at a place in Haberfield. Apparently its cheap and they do a nice job and are great with kids. That's what I need for Aiden. My friend gave me the salon name, address and phone number. Sweet. I rang hoping to get an appointment the next day (Wednesday). Don't be stupid! I could have an appointment for next Monday at 9am. Sure. Fine. Whatever. I'll wait nearly a week to get my 2 year old's hair cut.
Monday rolls around and I have been awake since 2am. First feeding Charlie and then listening to water drip through the light fitting in our bedroom, into a bucket sitting on our bed. I then spend from the time Aiden wakes up, talking to him about how nice it will be to get his hair cut. The haircut mantra goes something like:
"We are going to get your hair cut today"
"You are going to look sooo beautiful"
"You will have to sit up like a big boy"
"Mummy is going to take you for a drive in the big white car and get your hair cut. That will be fun, won't it?"
"You will look so nice with a hair cut" (repeat over and over until your brain turns to mush)
We drive through the horrid Monday morning weather and peak hour traffic to Haberfield. There are at least 7 hairdressers in Glebe. Just saying.
I'm running about 5 minutes late and consider ringing the salon to let them know but manage to find a park OK and take the happy and excited Aiden to get his hair cut. He is chatting all the way down the path. "Gunna get my hair cut!" Gunna look beuutifuul" "Mummy taking me to get my hair cut". Arrive outside Salon. Salon is closed. Want. To. Scream. Wait 10 minutes. Walk Aiden back to car. Using false happy voice ...
"Oh well. Mummy needs to find a new hairdresser"
"Will get your hair cut another day, won't we?"
"Let's go see the girls. Those lovely girls" (code for daycare).
That was a week ago.
So I'm not going to tell you about this morning, when I decided that having not much else to do, I would take Aiden for a haircut. At the hairdresser where you don't make an appointment. That charges $27 because its the weekend. I was prepared though. I'm smart. I'm determined. I. Can. Do. This.
I started the we-are-going-to-get-your-hair-cut mantra. See above. But I also added stuff.
"You can watch Thomas on mummy's iPad. That will be fun, won't it?"
"I bet you can sit up like a big boy like Marley and Jordi" (the cousins)
"If you sit up like a big boy and don't cry mummy will do "High-five" with you"
"If you sit up like a big boy and sit veerrry still, mummy will buy you a new Thomas train"
On arrival at the hairdresser I also was very clear with the stylist that she was not to use clippers or the hairdryer as he is scared of them. Sorted.
Haircut started and all was well. With Aiden sitting on my lap and watching Thomas on the iPad, we got half of his hair cut. Then the STUPID hairdresser "grabbed" Aiden with no warning to move him to cut his hair on the other side. He screamed. He cried. There was copious amounts of slobber mixed in with hundreds of tiny pieces of white, white hair. And then Charlie decided to join in. While I was trying to calm Aiden and talk to him about being a big boy, AND trying to shove a dummy in Charlie's screaming gob, the hairdresser decided she wanted to rid her black outfit of Aiden's white, white hair and TURNED THE HAIRDRYER ON. Seriously. What. Did. I. Say.
It took a while to recover from that. We got the hair cut finished. I paid the $27. I took Aiden for a "smartie" cookie and to get a Thomas train. I got a coffee and decided that Aiden will look great with long hair.
Would have liked to include a photo of Aiden with his new hair cut but he is in bed asleep. Where I wish I was.
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