Haircut Commentary

We walked into the haircut place and it was crowded.  Apparently everybody had the same idea of a Sunday afternoon haircut.  I didn't mind the wait.  It was some quality time with my boy.  I listened to him talk and talk... and talk.  Finally it was his turn.  We walked back and he took a seat.
"Hold on a second," says the beautician I shall call Sally.  "I need to grab a booster seat."
"I don't need a booster."  Ethan replies.
"Ethan, she needs it to cut your hair."  I said.
Ethan then begins to talk non-stop for the next 10 minutes.  "I don't like the buzzers, they pinch me... This thing chokes me... A piece of hair is on my belly... Who's gonna get that hair?  I look like a turtle.  Do you think I look like a turtle?  There's a hair on my toe.  Can someone get that hair on my toe?"
Sally tries to change the subject, "How old are you?"
"Six."
"So you're in school."
"Ummm, well, Sunday School."
"Sunday School?"
"Yeah, every Sunday before church even starts!"
"Oh, that's good."
I interrupt, "He's homeschooled."  She ignores me.  She then gets out scissors to cut the top.
Ethan continues his commentary.  "Oh, those are razor sharp.  Aren't they razor sharp?"
"Yes," Sally says, "So hold still so I don't cut you... Your hair is really long.  When's the last time you got a hair cut?  Do you remember?"  (I'll try not to take that as a personal Mommy jab)
"Yes."  Ethan replies.  She begins to cut as his hair falls all around him.  "Aghhh, it's raining hair!"  He laughs.  She doesn't.  He continues, "Abby doesn't get her haircut.  Just her bangs..."  She brushes his hair back.  "I don't like my hair like that.  I like it to be brushed forward and for the sides to be back behind my ears... Mom, I don't like it like that."
"Be patient, Ethan.  You can do it how you want when you get home."  I assure him.
"We're almost done,"  Sally says.
"Haircut people always say that and it still takes a really long time."  He looks at Sally, "Can I tell you something?"  She doesn't respond.  He speaks louder, "Can I tell you something?!"  She ignores him again.  She changes the subject,  "Do you want gel?"
"No."
"Mousse?"
"No."
"Color?"
His eyes perk up, "Yes,"  she gives him choices and he picks red.
"It washes out."  She says.  She rubs it through his hair and it's spiky all over.
"I don't like it spiky.  Can you brush it forward?  Mom, I don't like it spiky.  Can someone brush it forward?"
"It looks cool spiky."  I say.
"I don't like it spiky.  I like it to go forward."  He responds.  She brushes it forward.  "Will this last awhile?  I want to show Eliah.  Daddy is gonna like this."

I'm tired, Sally's tired but Ethan's hair is cut.  I can't say I wasn't chuckling to myself the whole time.  :)

Hold My Hand

As we crossed the street to get to the van, Ethan grabbed my hand.  It was second nature for him.  He always holds my hand to cross the street.  We trained him to do that at an early age and he hasn't thought to stop doing it yet (and I will not be the one to let him know he doesn't have to anymore... because he does).

Suddenly I was flooded with emotion because at that moment I realized that one day he wouldn't do that anymore.  One day he will become independent and stop holding my hand to cross the street.  One day he will ride his bike in the neighborhood without me there.  One day he will move out of the house (well, down the street) and live on his own (okay Destiny, baby steps, don't overwhelm yourself).  I squeezed his hand tight and tried to take in the moment.  I looked at him and held his hand, and my heart was full.

I thought of my other two and how they still hold my hand as well.  Ally wraps her little hand around one of my fingers.  I love it.  I love her smallness.

When we got in the car, I started thinking of the time when Andy and I first met.  We met over the phone (he was my admissions counselor for college) and we developed a friendship before we even met.  We only hung out on two occasions before making the leap to dating.  When I finally moved to the college he attended, I felt like I knew him so well but we hadn't really hung out.  I felt awkward around him and yet we were dating.  I was afraid if he saw the goofy, dorky side of me he would think he made a mistake.  I remember being kinda quiet for the first few days.  He kept asking me what was wrong and I assured him it was nothing.  But soon I could no longer hold it in.  We were coming back from dinner and he was walking me back to the dorm.  He asked me again what was wrong and I finally let it all out.  I told him I felt like I wasn't being myself and a whole bunch of other babbling nonsense that I can't remember.  I was shaking because I was still so nervous around this dream guy I was so afraid of losing. He listened carefully to everything I had to say.  His eyes never wavered but remained locked into mine. At the end of my sonnet, he smiled and gently took both my hands.  I'll never forget that feeling.  With one gesture, my fears and trepidation were gone.  There was a sense of security.  He said something like, "Everything is gonna be okay," or other nonsense that I don't remember now.  But the power of touch, the gesture of taking my hands, that I will remember forever.