Sebastian decided on Friday night, while he was supposed to be sleeping but instead was coloring and cutting out many, many minecraft creepers,* that chopping up his hair was a delightful idea.
And by 'chopping' I mean CHOPPING:
I'm not really sure what possessed him, honestly. I'd just trimmed his hair and he fought me on it because he wanted it to grow. I'm normally all for long hair on boys, encourage it, in fact. But his hair was growing out wonky and he looked like a deranged hobo and so I felt like the best course of action as I didn't have time to take him to a professional, and he won't sit still for it anyway, was to put the clippers on the longest setting and buzz through.
I didn't do a bad job, either. I'd only missed a bit on his neck, but that was because by the time I got to that part he was completely incapable of standing still and I was in danger of slicing open the back of his neck.
But he hated the hair cut anyway, which whatever, child.
So the fact that he sat in his bed chopping his hair with his little child-sized scissors, as close as he could get it to his scalp, was surprising, to say the least.
He came downstairs, giggling, but not in humor, in nervousness.
"Look what I did to my hair!" he said.
It was ... something.
And when he realized that it was completely irreversible and that we would have to buzz his entire head he proceeded to wail about how he didn't want to cut his hair. For Thirty Minutes.
Of course, somehow, it became his parents' faults. Because we were forcing him to do it.
I calmly explained to him that I was not the one who butchered his hair, that it was all his responsibility and that if he hadn't wanted a super-short hair cut then he shouldn't have taken scissors to his hair, and scattered the cuttings all over his dinosaur sheet.
(Seriously. I still can't get all the hair off of that damn thing. WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!)
So the next morning we held him down and buzzed off the rest of his chopped-off mane.
There was a small part of me that enjoyed it as his behavior has left something to be desired of late. There's been biting and yelling and attitude and drawing on his walls even after he's been told not to. He wrote "No Dads" in bright red crayon because he'd gotten in trouble for biting his sister, because she wouldn't stop trying to kick him out of his own hammock in the back yard.
So I was not displeased to hold him down and shave his head, is what I'm saying.
However, he's been a bit better lately, but I have to tell him that his first soccer practice has been cancelled tonight because of the weather, but his sister still gets to go to hers because her coach has access to an elementary school gym.
I expect more wailing.
*I have no idea what these are, but they are green and all over Sebastian's room.