The House of Tater has some pretty big issues, and the ones involving our hair are right there at the top of the list.
David and Small Fry have it a little easier than Tater Tot and I. Their hair is nice and straight and generally behaves itself even when it gets a bit shaggy.
Tater Tot and I have obscenely thick hair that waves and curls and tends to resemble a lion's mane once it reaches a certain length. Our hair doesn't just grow down. It grows out and up.
The logical solution to the lion look is to just go get a haircut. The only problem is that Tater Tot has developed an unreasonable fear of getting his hair cut. He'll sit in the chair and let the stylist start, but once she gets close to his ears or neck, he comes undone. As my Daddy would say, he has a complete and total come-apart.
We had to endure the experience Sunday afternoon when I could put off haircuts no longer. Small Fry was starting to look like a little girl, and Tater Tot's hair looked something like a troll doll. David went with me to take the boys to get their hair cut and offered to sit with Tater Tot while I sat with Small Fry. God bless that man.
Small Fry, who fears nothing, sat through his haircut like a statue, waiting patiently for the sucker that comes at the end.
(Is it just me or does he remind you of the Home Alone kid, too?)
Anyway, while Small Fry sat quietly, his older brother went into the haircut hysterics and threw a fit of epic proportions that appeared to have no end in sight. David, having had enough of the fit and at his wits' end, marched Tater Tot out of the shop, into the Jeep, and they were homeward bound. (We drove separate cars because I had a couple of errands to run afterward. I just wanted to clarify so you don't think David left Small Fry and me stranded at SportsClips.)
Tater Tot, exhausted from his fit, fell asleep for a couple of hours. When he finally woke up, he told David he thought he could be brave enough to let me finish the haircut.
With all the confidence I could muster, I said that I would LOVE to cut Tater Tot's hair while channelling Annelle's character in Steel Magnolias where she asks Sally Field if her dress has to go over her head. Except that in my version I'm asking, "Do you know if you have ANY kind of school pictures coming up?"
We found some scissors that looked like they might work on hair and set up shop in the bathroom. As luck would have it, Tater Tot let me trim the hair over his ears and even up his neckline with only a minimal amount of twitching and flinching. He didn't move too much, either.
I am happy to report that no tears, or blood, were shed. Although I considered taking a nip at David when he walked by and said, "Aren't you going to shape some little sideburns?" Smart man that he is, he immediately apologized and excused himself to the deck, far away from his scissor-wielding wife.
Here's our boy.
My work won't garner any remarks like, "Speaking of drawers, hang onto yours! This is going in the hairdo hall of fame!" But it'll have to do until it grows out again, at which time I might just tease it and make it look like a brown football helmet.