Armed with plenty of bribery: three new construction trucks (thanks to Nana and Uncle Harry) and a chocolate Easter Bunny, Matthew and I attempted the unimaginable last night – a haircut. My tools? A comb, old finger nail scissors, and a plastic cup (for covering Matthew’s ears). Somehow, the magic of the new construction trucks and the protected Martin ears, worked, and we actually managed to cut the hair-cut-phobic child’s shaggy-do.

My only previous haircutting experience occurred seven years ago in a motel room in Antibes, France. Located on the ocean and not far from Cannes, the weather was super hot. We’d spent a couple of days on the beach attempting to make our pale skin turn tan (we only managed to turn lobster red), and Ingrid was desperate for a trim. We bought some scissors at the grocery store and I attempted to cut her straight, blond hair evenly across the bottom. Straight hair stresses me out because you can actually see the cut. With my big ‘fro curly hair, it doesn’t really matter if the cut is straight across the bottom or not. As long as there are layers and some intensive thinning-action; my hair pretty much always looks the same – big. (Ingrid got her hair professionally cut shortly after we returned to the States.)

I have been the queen of bad haircuts and experiences in the past. I had one lady sit me down, wrap me in the black hair-cutting tarp, look at my long, thick, overgrown curls, and say, “And what do you expect me to do with all this junk?” Yes, and then I just sat there like a wuss while she butchered my hair. One lady cut my hair all one length, and said, “It’s a straight haircut, it will make your hair straight.” Mmm, yeah, it doesn’t work that way. And, I of course still tip for these horrendous haircuts! When I’ve had my hair short, there’s no end to the haircutting trauma. If the hairstylist blow-dries my hair (why I let them do this, is still a mystery), I come home in tears crying about my big mushroom-head hair. Mike tries to reassure me that it looks OK (not without too much enthusiasm, I might add) and then subtly reminds me how much he likes my hair long.

So, I’ve never had extensive haircutting experience, and let’s face it, Matthew – fearing for the safety of his ears – is not the best client. However, despite the deck stacked against us, we managed; and if I do say so myself, I think we managed quite well. When I cut Matthew’s sideburns and around his ears, he would hold a pink plastic heart cup (a Valentine’s gift from Ms. Susan) over the body part, lest I should try to snip those down (with my dull finger nail scissors). At the end of our successful haircut, I said, “Matthew, I’m SO proud of you. You did such a good job!” To which he replied, “You too, Mommy. Good job. I’m proud of you!” What a good boy.

And what a good Mommy indeed! I can’t believe his haircut is actually socially acceptable – I was thinking we might just have to hold him down and shave his head since I figured I’d botch it so badly. I’m so confident in my haircutting skills now; maybe I should attempt to trim Zachary’s Baby Mullet – his Bullet. However, I don’t think that that mover-shaker would sit still even if it was for new construction trucks and stale Easter chocolate.

Matthew decided that his new construction trucks wanted to sleep out on the deck last night. He was just about to crawl into bed, when forgetting something, he jumped up and ran down the hall. He threw open the deck slider and yelled, “Goodnight, worker trucks! I love you!” Yeah, he really is that cute.