I love a good haircut. I crave a good haircut. There is nothing more relaxing in the world to me than having someone else cut, dry, and style my hair. My son does not feel the same way. He hates it. We've tried going to the barber, but when even the sweetest of old man barbers rolls his eyes when you walk in, you know you've got problems. So I started cutting Sam's hair here at home. I'm a decent scissor-wielder, and it's less stressful for me to do it here than for me to watch with wide-eyed horror as my son has a very public meltdown.
So here's my haircutting tip: Chocolate. Go buy it. Lots of it. I happened to have a box of Valentine candy a few days ago when I snapped and decided that Sam's Chia Head needed a trim. He still cried the entire time I snipped away at his mop, but he sat still, and didn't try to claw my eyes out. And because of the chocolate, he forgot that I nipped his ear. Oops.
I chalk that up to a Mommy Victory. Never underestimate the power of a good box of Russell Stovers.
Before: Scraggly. Verging on Bonnaroo hippy.
After: Neat. Ivy League prep. Mama likes.