Parley and I spent the morning at BYU. I didn't tell him why we were going until we were headed there. Recently Parley has decided he is terrified of haircuts. I don't know when or how it happened, but it did. Jed has always cut his hair, and he's never been thrilled about it, but he hasn't put up the same resistance as he now does. He is such an easy going guy, that is has surprised us, for sure. Jed decided he didn't want to be the bad guy who forced haircuts, so I moved to my sister. No dice. Next to grandpa, who, after trying, said he'd never seen a kid throw a fit like Parley did about a haircut. So, over we went to BYU barbershop.
"Pars, we're going to BYU! We're going to just check out the barbershop, where they cut hair, and then we're going to play arcade games and have a treat!"
"I don't want to get my haircut! Let's just play games first!"
He screamed the moment we got into the shop. I tried to point out the awesome chairs that moved up and down, the other little boy sitting calmly getting his haircut--clearly not in pain, the Smarties and Skittles, the BYU athletes on the wall. Nothing made it okay to be in the BYU barbershop.
Soon enough Parley was called up for his cut. He screamed and kicked and thrust himself in every direction while I kissed his cheek and promised he wouldn't be hurt. The barber (a lady--can we call her a barber?) tried to get a cape on his neck, and when he wouldn't do it, she put one on me, which turned out to be good, since he squirmed and squealed on my lap the whole time she cut. Julian wandered around the shop opening drawers and catching a minute here or there of Dora the Explorer--kindly put on for an uncaring Parley. Jules would occasionally come back to me for some of Parley's refused Smarties, but he mostly wandered. I asked patrons, waiting for their turn at a haircut, to please (please) let me know if he left the shop, since I was confined to the barber's chair.
Parley's screaming and thrusting subsided a little, since it wasn't hurting after all, but soon escalated, when she brought out the smaller "sideburn" clippers, which he didn't recognize. We promised they were the same as the others, tested them on all of our hands, and then moved ahead.
Then, as if to warn a passerby of an oncoming car, Parley shouted, "It's going to get my freckles!"
I almost cried. This kid loves his freckles so much. I assured him it would not get his freckles, and nothing could take his freckles away. And then it was over. Now exhausted, I paid our baber, took a now calm Parley's hand, rounded up Julian, and headed to the arcade. A newly trimmed head, skiiball, and not a single freckle sacrificed--a pretty successful morning.