"It's just hair, Mom. It grows back..."

This week on Mom.me, I wrote about my failed haircut attempt and how I will spend the rest of my parenting career trying and failing and presuming I can do things that I cannot do. Not that that's specific to parenting. We all botch a haircut now and then. Not literally, of course. Most people recognize that taking their child to a barber is a smart move. I am not one of those people. I would perform surgery in my living room if I could because I figure, "hey! I know how to cut things! I can sew a button, so, like... how hard could it be?"

(I can barely sew a button you guys.)

Anyway... a few weeks back, I attempted to give Archer a trim and failed miserably:

This wasn't the first time I screwed up my kids’ hair but it was the first time it MATTERED and oh, yes, it mattered... 

I knew it before he did, of course. I knew it before I had proof. I was cutting too fast and then BAMHAKJSHDAJKHKJA. And for a moment, as I deliberated between admitting defeat and trying to justify it, I realized that instead of fighting this one? I was going to accept it. This one's on me.

I stood in front of the wave of regret and let it wash right on over me.

"Mom! It's okay! Why are you crying? It's just hair!"

The floodgates opened as soon as I turned Archer toward the mirror and read his expression.


"I'M SORRY! I'm so sorry."

Through my tears I asked if I could attempt to fix it. And attempt to fix it I did well do. But it only made it worse... That’s when I pulled myself together, procured Archer a baseball cap and the three of us got in the car, sirens blazing, to the nearest barber shop. HAIR EMERGENCY! COMING THROUGH! EXCUSE US WE HAVE AN EMERGENCY!"

...The hairdresser we were assigned was not amused by my story and quickly brought Archer back down to earth with a, "there's nothing I can do to fix this but I can cut your hair 3/4 inch all the way around...”

Archer sank into his chair.

I sank into the floor.

And then... the hairdresser proceeded to cut what was left of his hair off his head.

Archer closed his eyes.

I closed my eyes.

Fable closed her eyes, too.

I hated it at first. (I pretended that I loved it, of course.)

So did he. (He did NOT pretend that he loved it. Of course.)

Fable tried to make lemonade, but, like... (We knew how she really felt. Of course.)

"You look so... short-haired!" she said as we wandered back out into the afternoon. 

You look so short-haired.
The next 48 hours were a bit of an emotional roller coaster. And then... that was it. Archer woke up two days later and told me he loved his new haircut. That he wanted to keep it short "like this" forever. And…I forgot what he looked like any other way.

"I'm glad it all turned out okay," I said.

"I told you, Mom. It's just hair."

Which brings me to today, three weeks later, with my retired scissors in an out-of-reach mason jar and my son doing his homework across the table from me with a haircut I caused by my mistake. With a haircut he has long since forgiven me for and miraculously, grown to to love...

And while I will never attempt to cut his hair AGAIN FOR AS LONG AS I LIVE, there will be countless times, metaphorically speaking, when I will botch his life in some way -- thinking I know best when I don't. Not even close. There will be time after time when I will attempt to help and instead, hurt. When I will believe that I can but cannot.

And when I can't fix the can't with a can?

It's just hair, Mom. It grows back...

And that's precisely what it's doing....
You can read the entire post, hereIn the meantime, Happy Mother's Day, friends. We're doing this thing and I'm proud of us. Keep on...