I can't draw. Just ask anyone who has had the misfortune of playing DrawSomething with me. "Oh, it's supposed to be The Beatles? I kinda thought it was a penguin maybe? Maybe a dead one?"
I can't dance. I have no rhythm. I have no jive. I have no groove.
I can't dress myself in such a way as to not look like a homeless person. I often text pics of myself to Natalie before leaving the house. "Is this ok? Oh, it's not? I need pants? Oh, and a bra? And maybe a shirt without stains?"
Also, in no particular order, I can't perform brain surgery, I can't file a legal brief, I can't repair a steam-powered engine, and I can't drive an eighteen wheeler.
Oh, and one more thing.
I cannot cut hair.
Well, to be exact, I cannot cut the boys' hair.
See, here's the thing. It seems totally like something I feel like I SHOULD be able to do. I've watched it being done a gazallion times. I've got all the right tools. It LOOKS like something I should be able to handle. I'm capable and smart and Mamas have been cutting little boys hair since the dawn of time. Or at least since the dawn of clippers...
But I really can't.
However, I have tried. Repeatedly.
The first (and last) time I cut Zachary's hair he seemed totally fine with it, then asked me the next day "Mama, next time I need a haircut would it be ok if I used my allowance and went back to Bobby (the barber)?"
Nothing makes you feel like a cruddy Mama faster than your kid trying to buy his way out of your care.
When it was time for Cooper's first haircut, I convinced myself I could handle it and to be honest, it wasn't THAT bad. Really. It wasn't.
But for the last couple years both boys have been getting their hair cut by a professional, as I'm guessing they should.
Then last week, I noticed Cooper was getting a little shaggy around the ears and neck. Nothing major, not enough to get in the car and drive to the place and spend $15 on, surely. Not when I have clippers handy and surely this time it will be fine, I mean, after all, I'm just going to trim up around the ears a bit...
Yeah, and then he moved, and the clippers moved too, and oh dear god, oh dear god, oh dear god...
Baby Buzzcut rides again.
Here are the good things: He likes to pet his hair and keeps saying it feels "nice." However, he is a bit of a people pleaser so I'm not sure if he really feels this way or if he just doesn't like seeing his Mama rolled up in a sobbing ball on the floor.
Oh, there is one more good thing to come of this. I've learned my lesson.
This time for real.