I’m not sure how haircuts go in your house – or if they even happen in your house.  But here in the Runningamuck household, little ol me does all the male haircuts.  I started several years ago doing Hubby’s as a way to save a little moolah.  He’s a High ‘n Tight guy so it isn’t too hard… although some of the haircuts I’ve done would scream otherwise!  Maybe I should rephrase it as High ‘n Tights are easy in theory. 

Anyhoo, since I was already doing Hubby’s hair, it was easy to tack on three more heads to the haircutting schedule.  Especially since they are so blond.  Any mistakes that happen – because of moving people, never because of me, nope, never – are hard to see since their hair blends right in with their scalp below. 

But the bribery begins as soon as I start thinking about bringing out the shears.  It goes a little something like this,

me, super enthusiastically, “Hey guys, how about we do haircuts tonight after dinner?!”

Tiger, “Nooo.  We wanna play outside”

me, again, overly-excited, “Aww, com’on, it’ll be fun!”

Monkey, “Well, I was planning on playing outside since we have to go to bed soon”

Lil Blue, ” aggaboobaa” pointing outside like his brothers,”ssiiiddddeee” nods head up and down with puppy dog eyes.

me, “Dontcha want a treat?! Remember, if you are real still and don’t cry you’ll get a treat afterwards”

Monkey, “Is Dad getting his hair cut too?”

Tiger, “What treat do we get? A candy?”

me, “weeelllll, Daddy’s not here but if he were he’d want a haircut too.  He’ll want one for sure once he sees all your handsome heads when he gets home and hears what awesome treats you got to eat!”

Monkey, “Well, I want to wait until Daddy gets home so that we can do it together!”

Tiger, “Yeah! Together!”

Lil Blue, “YEEAHHH!” (he loves to beat his brothers in the “who-can-be-the-loudest” game)

At this point, I’m bringing out the big guns.  I start talking about how special the treat will be, how fast I’ll cut, how they can watch a movie during it… and finally it works.  Well, at least for the first minute while I get the shears out and start lining up all guards I’ll be using (because speed is of the essence and the 20 seconds it takes me to locate the next-sized guard could be the last 20 seconds one of my little men have left to give me).  As soon as I start shaving Tiger or Monkey, the complaints start.  Folks, you’d think their freshly cut locks were made of molten lava.  They cannot stand the feeling of it resting on their skin…. anywhere! And I use a drape!!  But it doesn’t matter.  If a hair hits their ear, their neck, their cheek or their arm – Freak. Out. City.  YOU MUST GET IT OFF IMMEDIATELY!!  So I make a big game out of blowing after every other swipe of the shears. And not a polite, gentle, lady-like blow.  We’re talking gale force winds.  Because it not only has to clear every single loose hair that is anywhere on their little person but it also has to entertain.  So sometimes I even let a little, um, spit fly (sorry! Don’t leave me because of my grossness!) because they’re boys and they think it’s funny.  But the hair?  It’s not funny one bit.  It’s almost like they believe it’ll burrow it’s way under their skin and start making hair-babies under there if left longer than a millisecond.  So I blow.  And I remind them of their treat that I’ll enjoy eating if they don’t quit acting like a cry-baby sad little boy and start earning the right to keep their promised sugar-rush.  And then I keep blowing.

Lil Blue has a different type of problem. His at least is age-appropriate.  He just constantly moves his head in an attempt to watch the shears as they pass over his head. Every. Stinkin. Time.  I’m not kidding. It’s like trying to shave a chinchilla that you can’t hold on to.  (or at least what I imagine that would be like, given the fact that I’ve never actually attempted to shave a chinchilla before.  My sister owned one when we were kids though. Does that count for something?)  Constantly chasing his head.  Left to right, front to back, up and down.  I guess I should be thankful he’s not freaking out and trying to scramble away and hide in the two inches of space under the couch (which is where a chinchilla would go in a heartbeat). 

We have managed to survive the haircut roundup each time – so far.  The treat promise helps a lot.  But seriously, does anyone else have the problem of the molten-burrowing-mass-procreating locks of hair?  Or is it just my boys? 

Now, ya’ll better comment.

Or I’ll go hang up my trusty shears for good.

And let my boys run around looking like Cousin Itt from The Adams Family.

Much to my boys absolute delight.