I took Robby for a haircut. This is usually a mundane chore for many mommys, and would probably not be "blog worthy." I have learned, however, that Robby has the ability to turn the most boring and ordinary tasks into a drama of monumental proportions.
Robby has not earned a good reputation when it comes to getting his hair cut. In the past, he has been very loud and vocal about his "dislike" for the barber. I was hoping that this time would be different.
This time, instead of springing the hair cut on him, I decided to prep him. I reasoned that he would feel as if he was in more control if he knew that we were going to the barber. Perhaps his outbursts in the past stemmed from feeling l and scared. I set out to remedy the situation!
I started to prepare him for the trip to the barber several days ago. We talked about going to the barber. We watched Max on Max and Ruby (one of his favorite cartoons) go to the barber. We read books about going to the barber. And, what perhaps made the strongest impression, he learned that he would receive a lollipop from the barber.
I decided to up the ante a little. I promised him two lollipops if he didn't cry. Sure that my prep work would yield success or that the bribery would be effective, I set out for the barber.
Robby and I chatted about visiting the barber during the drive. I talked about being nice and saying hello. I talked about being a good boy and staying still. He talked about getting two lollipops.
I was optimistic when I parked the car. Robby unlatched his seat belt and did not put up a struggle entering the barber shop. Eureka, I had tackled the barber issue! I was a diligent Mommy, I had prepared my child, and he had now conquered his fear. I was feeling quite successful and proud as we entered the barber shop.
After Robby greeted the barber, he immediately asked for his lollipop. The barber informed him that he needed to get his hair cut first. At this moment I felt the blood begin to drain from my face. My pride vanished. I prepped Robby to visit the barber. I had failed to mention that, while he was at the barber, he would be getting his haircut.
Robby began to sob, pleading "No haircut Mr. Barber. No cut Robby hair Mr. Barber." I assumed my position on the barber chair, and held Robby on my lap. With him in a bear hug, the barber began to cut his hair.
To say that Robby screamed would be an understatement. I held him tightly, and he was still wiggling away from the scissors. Two other barbers came to assist in restraining Robby Rotten. He voiced his displeasure. He screamed with each snip and became louder with time.
To my horror, two police officers came running into the barber shop! They heard Robby screaming and they thought that something was wrong. I had to explain that he was fine, just angry about getting his haircut.
So there I sat on a barber chair, covered with black smock, holding a screaming toddler. I had a barber on each side of me, each trying to restrain my son. Two police officers were standing in front of me trying to console Robby. They were not successful.
All of the hair that was cut was stuck to his face and arms. He looked like a hairy red werewolf.
When the haircut was finished, Robby hopped out of my arms. He asked for his lollipop, gave the Police Officers each a fist bump, and said "Bye-bye Mr. Barber."
I gave the barber a $20 bill for a $12 haircut. I took my now happy little boy, sucking on his lollipop, out to the car and strapped him into his car seat. I reached into the glove compartment and found my Tylenol bottle. I made a mental note that we needed to find a new Barber Shop. My only solace was that his hair was short, and I knew that we wouldn't have to repeat this spectacle for another 5 or 6 months.