Horrifying Haircuttery

I woke this morning to a tasty egg sandwich and an incredible piece of cleverness from the Puddinette. She told the kids at 9:00 AM that if they cleaned up the basement play room, we’d stop by the county animal shelter and check out the dogs up for adoption. Of course, we have no intention of adopting a dog at the moment unless it’s freakin’ Lassie – and she’s learned to clean up her own shedding.

Now, before anyone accuses us of being terrible, Christmas-ruining people for dangling a puppy-shaped carrot before the eyes of our children, let it be known that we made a point to clarify that we would not be bringing any furry friends home with us today. So the kids labored away to clean up the toy box explosives range, and then I ran and got an oil change.

Our Saturday morning was the very epitome of excitement, as you can see.

After returning with fresh oil, a new filter, a refill on wiper fluid, and a thinner wallet, we gathered into the van and made the promised trek to the animal shelter. They did have a couple of cute ones today, but sadly, Lassie was adopted last week.

A quick bite to eat followed. The Attitude is really cute when he says, “piza”, by the way.

And then, Haircut Day; the very words strike fear into the hearts of parents and stylists everywhere. Few things can try the patience of everyone invovled as having a sizeable family waiting for each kid’s individual chance at the booster seat and the shears.

The plan originally was to get the Mini-Puddinette trimmed and The Attitude’s curly mop reduced significantly. The older boys were slated for a later date with Puddin Boy’s Amateur Barber Chair, which means they were going to get the #2 blade, all-over buzz from my drug store clippers in the garage. The Puddinpop was all about it, but The Sequel, was, well, hesitant. He’s a bit more particular about this sort of thing; he picks out his clothes and makes a point to put gel in his hair on a daily basis to ensure he looks appropriately cool.

Dad + clippers = not cool.

Apparently my six year-old already knows that a guy who wore white socks with black shoes until he was almost 35 doesn’t really need to be performing aesthetic operations on anyone’s head. So, after much pleading, we decided to allow him a less embarrassing summer hair style, and after making that decision, it seemed silly to charge the clippers and set out my barber pole for just the Puddinpop.

Having opted to get all four kids a cut at the same place, we set out for that place that specializes in kids. The Puddinpop complained bitterly, of course, because at 7 and a half, he obviously can no longer be expected to tolerate kid stuff. Lucky for him, the kid place was closed, vacationing until early July.

We found a chain place close by, although my expectations were appropriately low. I am pleased to say, then, that they were surpassed several times. Upon seeing only two stylists on hand when we walked into the place, I figured I’d be burning through my retirement cash before all four kids got out of the chair. And yet, within minutes of our arrival, more stylists had appeared magically from nowhere. It’s like they had some kind of generator in the back.

We were in and out of the place in 20 minutes, and each of the kids was happy with their cool new ‘dos. In fact, we had such a pleasant experience on Haircut Day that I didn’t even have to resort to drinking. Pleased, I went home and did a little plumbing work on a sink the Master Bath. Later, I might even do a crossword puzzle.

Indeed, the very epitome of excitement.

Pud’n