Thursday, October 7, 2010

Waxing Poetic

I am the worst mother ever. Well, maybe not the worst, but I'm sure if you ask my son, Connor, he would say his mom is no gem. Perhaps I should explain. Before I do, let me just say that I had the best of intentions, and was only thinking of my son. Okay, that might not be totally true...

Here's the story. It was late August. Kids were lined up at the Hair Cuttery for their back to school hair cuts. Now Connor is homeschooled, but that doesn't mean I want the child walking around like a hippie. Every summer he decides to grow his hair out, his goal is to look like Anikin Skywalker (before he dons the Vader helmet). I don't get it, but hey - it's only hair. Anyway, there I am, trying to keep Aidan under control (he's there to get the paint out of his hair - not a good look), and I happen to glance at the price list. For $5 they'll wax the middle of the eyebrow. I glanced at Connor. Then back to the sign. Back to Connor. He catches me looking at him, follows my gaze to the sign, reads it, and loudly proclaims "over my dead body!!". I gave him what I hope was a pleading, yet encouraging look. He gave me what I like to call "The Connor Death Glare". Hmmm. What to do...

At this point, I think a little backstory is needed. My boys are a hairy bunch. It's not their fault - It's mine. When I was about the age Connor is now, I was at a friends' house. She sat me down and laid it out for me, saying :"We need to do something about your eyebrows.". My response: "What's wrong with my eyebrows?" Her response: "There is only one, where there should be two." Ohhhh. So she plucked away at my poor brows until there were actually two, and then gave me a mirror. Holy crap -I didn't even look like me anymore! I then noticed I was never cold in the winter because my legs were so hairy it was like wearing a fur coat. So began the life of shaving and plucking (I'll save waxing for another day). I have become the gal who has to shave her legs every day and needs a haircut every 3 weeks. People find it hard to believe I am of Scottish and Irish decent, assuming Greek or Italian. This is what I've passed on to my children. Aidan will be the guy at the beach you think is wearing a sweater, but it's really his back hair, and Connor will be the guy with the unibrow.

Back to the Hair Cuttery. I got Aidan settled with the lady who does his hair, then wandered over to the chair Connor was in. I stood watching his wavy, dirty- blond hair fall to the ground - the transformation was amazing! After 4 months of not getting a hair cut, I was finally getting my Connor back! Swept up in the moment, I stood next to the stylist with my back to the mirror so Connor couldn't see me, and whispered "Do the eyebrow". She gave me a nod, and I wandered back to Aidan, who, because of the paint, was getting a really interesting hair cut. I told Aidan's stylist what had just transpired and together we chuckled. In the midst of our laughter, Connor was being led to the sing to rinse of the remainder of what had to be 10lbs of hair. All of a sudden, I heard "Oh no you're not!!!". Funny, that sounded like Connor. I leaned around Aidan's mirror, and met the eyes of Connor's stylist. She looked at me questionly, and I, feeling a bit like Ceasar deciding the fate of a slave in a gladiator competion, gave her the thumbs up. Aidan's stylist, still finding the whole thing amusing, asked "do you think he'll scream?". Oh no. What have I done? What kind of monster am I? I leaned around the mirror to tell the lady maybe we shouldn't do this, but before the words left my mouth, I heard a riiipppp. Then, "Owwwwww!!!". I stuck my head back behind the mirror, only to hear the ripping sound again. I suddenly found my shoes very interesting, as Connor was being led back to his chair. I glanced up to look at him, and by God he looked wonderful (well, except for the screaming red mark between his eyes). I felt a big, silly grin climb onto my face. That is, until I looked into his eyes. His bright blue eyes were filled with tears he refused to let fall in public. I felt lika an ass. I paid for the boys' haircuts, Connor still refusing to look at me, and drove them across the street to Gamestop, where I told Connor to pick out whatever game he wanted. Only when his game was bought and paid for, did Connor talk to me.

So, you see, I'm the worst mother in the world. Why couldn't I just let Connor be Connor? He loved that darn unibrow, thought it made him unique. Whereas I, his mother, only saw it as a catapillar above his eyes, that needed to be done away with. It's been 6 weeks now, the unibrow is back in full effect. Although I enjoyed looking at my son with two eyebrows, I won't do that to him again (I'll let his first girlfriend be the bad guy). I'm proud of Connor. I don't know of to many kids today who like themselves just the way they are. Lesson learned.