Facing my Foolish Fears

...or perhaps that should be, facing my fears of foolishness! So I have recently made a foray into hairdressing. Yup, not my usual thing! I have an incredible fear of making the poor souls look awful, and then having to live with my mistakes until their hair is long enough to get a professional to do it properly. And I would feel foolish every time I looked at these persons in the meantime. Anyway, the first victim was J. After having so little hair for so long, his first haircut was a cause for some celebration. Having said that, my Scottish ancestry meant I wasn't about to fork out for someone else to trim 3 curls that were threatening to become rats-tails from the nape of my son's neck! On the night before my folks left to return home from their extended visit with us we decided the boy should be shorn, and by default, I had the scissors. One high-chair, one dad playing finger games with J, one bribe of new pyjamas in honour of the first haircut, one grandma wielding a camera, and more than one tentative snip with the scissors with great concentration... and J was respectable again. :o)

The second was a willing victim. N eventually managed to convince me to use his clippers to wrangle his wild mane (see above) into tamer pastures. Forty-five minutes in the bathroom, terrifying clumps of hair on the floor, and I had a happy hubby to show for it. He, too, looks respectable. Not sure if this will become a regular jaunt, but I'm not about to attack my own hair just yet. The head massage isn't in my repertoire, and that's really the best bit about getting your hair cut anyway. ;o)