Ben, my toddler, is the proud owner of a massive amount of hair. A mullet that a 1980’s scouser would be proud of. In fact, Gregg Wallace from Masterchef would be very jealous of it… (That guy cracks me up)
He was born with a fairly impressive amount, didn’t loose any and it’s just kept growing. He has only had it cut once, just after his first birthday, after this photo I took at a friends house prompted me into action…the mullet had gone a step too far.
The first haircut went pretty badly it’s safe to say. We chose a local barbers who have a racing car chair for the little kids to sit in and also a tv…oh, and lollipops. Everyone loves a lollipop, don’t they?! Well not Ben. He wasn’t falling for that trick, or the car chair distraction, or Peppa Pig on the TV. He wanted out and that was the end of it. Sadly he had half of his mullet on the floor and the other half still firmly on his head so there was nothing for it but to pin him down (head on the steering wheel) and clipper away quicker than me eating a slice of chocolate cake on the sly…
He had screamed so much he was hyperventilating, he had hair stuck to all the snot on his face so he looked like a Werewolf (and he was howling like one) and I was a sweaty, jibbering wreck in dire need of a liqueur coffee. It really put me off ever taking him for one again.
Sadly, over the last year, his mullet has continued to grow at its same, swift rate and he was in need of a trip to the hairdressers once again…I however, still scarred for life from the last time, wasn’t.
Myself and my mum popped into town yesterday (she doesn’t work Wednesday’s so that’s our one day together – normally spent running errands and wresting the toddler around the shops before the school run) so we took the opportunity to take the little devil for a trim up.
We chose the same barbers as last year, thinking that because he is now a year older, he might appreciate the racing car chair and lollipops a bit more (ah, that mistake again…assumption. Only leads to disaster).
Ben sits in the racing car chair quite happily, initially. Then the chap starts squirting water on his locks to tame them. Disaster. As soon as the first droplets hit his bouffant that it.
“Whaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!” he’s off on one. He’s already trying to disembark and is flailing around like a child who’s just eaten a blue freeze pop.
The chap valiantly tries to push on, over the limb flailing and wailing, and attempts to scissor cut his hair. My mum tries to distract him with Peppa pig but he’s having none of it. For once in his life, he couldn’t care less if Daddy Pig is crap at DIY and has broken the wall of the house, Peppa Pig can piss off. It’s safe to say Ben is not in his happy place.
The guy asks me to get Ben a lollipop, so I go and get one and give it to Ben. Within 2 seconds of it hitting his palm, it’s launched. “Nooooo!” comes the scream. He’s really quite cross now. Snot is coming out of his nose, hair is stuck to it, his eyes are bloodshot due to the screaming and he’s hyperventilating like some sort of Vampire Werewolf (Vampire Werewolf the movie, coming to a barbers near you soon).
The barber then tells me to sit down in a chair and puts a gown on me. Erm, I don’t want mine cut into a short back and sides thanks… Luckily it’s just a rouse to trick Ben into sitting on my lap. The barber tells me to hold Ben tight so he can do around his ears…this doesn’t go down too well and I’m now covered in his snot, hair and I want to curl up in a ball and drink Gin from the bottle in the corner of the room.
After 7 minutes of constant squealing, crying, hitting, thrashing and hatred (and that was just me) the barber admitted defeat and said he could do no more. Ben was left a jibbering wreck and my mum was asked to take him out of the shop to calm down whilst I de-haired myself and paid.
The chap apologised for not being able to cut it better, but then still charged me the full £9 for the half a haircut. To be honest though, the guy deserved to be knighted by the queen for persevering as long as he did.
So, it’s safe to say that despite a year without a haircut, Ben is still not a fan of a trip to the barbers. I’m just going to let it grow wild now until he’s old enough to behave himself…maybe he will get it cut for his 18th birthday working off that theory. It’s a trauma we could all do without. Gin o’clock….