All the parenting books I’ve read have a disclaimer that says something like this: “Your child is unique. His or her learning and growth rates may differ from other children the same age.” Which really is to say that given the uncertainty and risk inherent in all child interactions, they’re just guessing too.
I’ve been primed to look out for certain recognizable four year old behaviors:
1) Stills throw tantrums over minor frustrations.
Not pouring the milk on the cereal “in the right way” should qualify there.
2) Likes to shock others by using “forbidden words.”
Check, butthead.
3) Changes the rules of the game as they go along.
You get a turn after I take two turns, OK?
4) Persistently asks why; may name call, tattles freely.
But WHY can’t I call him poopyhead since he just called me stupid?
But here’s the one they didn’t warn me about:
5) May want to radically alter their appearance to express their individuality, like shave their head
????
So there it was. Right in the middle of dinner during a completely normal conversation, Colin announces to us that he wants to shave off all his hair.
“You mean get it really short, like a buzz cut?" I ask.
“No, I want to shave it all off so my head is smooth.”
Strike one.
“Oh, is it because you want to be like LJ who doesn’t have much hair yet?”
“Not really.”
Strike two.
“Oh, I know - is there a baseball player you really like that is bald?”
“Mom, Ichiro’s my favorite player and he HAS hair.”
Strike three.
“Mom, don’t you remember that guy that was at Uncle Matt’s Superbowl party? I want to look like him.”
That’s right. That prematurely balding thirty something year old guy that we just happened to share some chips and guacamole with over four months ago. That guy who’s name none of us could remember and who none of us have seen since. That guy who is now my son’s inspiration for wanting to be “bald-by-choice.”
This must be some early preparation for how I will handle tattoos and piercing. Which in my minds eye will not be handled with the same kind of grace and understanding that I believe I have achieved with allowing my four year old to dress himself. I accept that he only wears jerseys with numbers on them. I accept that he wears socks with his sandals. I accept any and all color combinations. I accept that if I am not diligent about removing clothes from his dresser that he has outgrown, that they are fair game to be worn no matter how small, how holey, or how high they come up.
I understand the role that fads play in children’s fashion. If not for fads, why else would I have worn jellies sandals, leg warmers, and shoulder pads in the mid 80s? I’m sure my parents weren’t exactly keen on me looking like a Line Backer with sweaters on my legs and some sorry plastic mesh on my feet, but I suppose they figured that I’d grow of it. At some point they had to know that I would realize that you didn’t need big shoulders to get noticed.
Bring on the baggie jeans. Bring on the IZOD polo shirts. Bring on the PINK IZOD polo shirt. I’m really for all of it.
BUT, I cannot, will not, should not allow him to shave his head. I will not allow him to go Britney on me. So it’s not just that being “bald-by-choice” is anything but mainstream, or that it conjures up images of neo-nazi skinheads, bikers, and convicts, but it’s that … well, I love Colin’s hair and I have a secret (or not so secret) wish for him to grow it long because I feel like he doesn’t have a “short haired kid personality.”
Brett just shook his head when I came out with that one. However, since I think he worried that I may start pining away for a girl, he graciously agreed to the growing Colin’s hair out experiment so long as I promised no ponytails or experiments with nail polish.
So Colin has been living with a full, bushy head of hair that seems to be growing wider instead of longer. Bedhead has new meaning with these locks. And as summer is now upon us, I see that living underneath all that hair may be a little warm and uncomfortable. But man, you should see how cute it is pulled back with a headband.
I’ve been working on Colin these past couple of days, pointing out how much his hair looks like his Daddy’s and how when it’s longer, you can see the waves in it. I’m having these conversations fully aware that my opinion is barely registering. I’m also fully aware that I’m trying to control his hair and that this behavior is not becoming to a mother. And that maybe my obsession with his hair might be the exact reason he wants to get rid of it.
So, I’ve let this one go. Sort of. Brett is on the hook to take the boys to the barbershop this week. My hunch is that with a tootsie roll for bribery and a barber that doesn’t speak very good English, Colin will come home sporting a short hair cut that has been dubbed the “ALMOST BALD KID’S SPECIAL.” With that we’ll get friends and family to call him “cue ball” for a couple of weeks.
I’ve been primed to look out for certain recognizable four year old behaviors:
1) Stills throw tantrums over minor frustrations.
Not pouring the milk on the cereal “in the right way” should qualify there.
2) Likes to shock others by using “forbidden words.”
Check, butthead.
3) Changes the rules of the game as they go along.
You get a turn after I take two turns, OK?
4) Persistently asks why; may name call, tattles freely.
But WHY can’t I call him poopyhead since he just called me stupid?
But here’s the one they didn’t warn me about:
5) May want to radically alter their appearance to express their individuality, like shave their head
????
So there it was. Right in the middle of dinner during a completely normal conversation, Colin announces to us that he wants to shave off all his hair.
“You mean get it really short, like a buzz cut?" I ask.
“No, I want to shave it all off so my head is smooth.”
Strike one.
“Oh, is it because you want to be like LJ who doesn’t have much hair yet?”
“Not really.”
Strike two.
“Oh, I know - is there a baseball player you really like that is bald?”
“Mom, Ichiro’s my favorite player and he HAS hair.”
Strike three.
“Mom, don’t you remember that guy that was at Uncle Matt’s Superbowl party? I want to look like him.”
That’s right. That prematurely balding thirty something year old guy that we just happened to share some chips and guacamole with over four months ago. That guy who’s name none of us could remember and who none of us have seen since. That guy who is now my son’s inspiration for wanting to be “bald-by-choice.”
This must be some early preparation for how I will handle tattoos and piercing. Which in my minds eye will not be handled with the same kind of grace and understanding that I believe I have achieved with allowing my four year old to dress himself. I accept that he only wears jerseys with numbers on them. I accept that he wears socks with his sandals. I accept any and all color combinations. I accept that if I am not diligent about removing clothes from his dresser that he has outgrown, that they are fair game to be worn no matter how small, how holey, or how high they come up.
I understand the role that fads play in children’s fashion. If not for fads, why else would I have worn jellies sandals, leg warmers, and shoulder pads in the mid 80s? I’m sure my parents weren’t exactly keen on me looking like a Line Backer with sweaters on my legs and some sorry plastic mesh on my feet, but I suppose they figured that I’d grow of it. At some point they had to know that I would realize that you didn’t need big shoulders to get noticed.
Bring on the baggie jeans. Bring on the IZOD polo shirts. Bring on the PINK IZOD polo shirt. I’m really for all of it.
BUT, I cannot, will not, should not allow him to shave his head. I will not allow him to go Britney on me. So it’s not just that being “bald-by-choice” is anything but mainstream, or that it conjures up images of neo-nazi skinheads, bikers, and convicts, but it’s that … well, I love Colin’s hair and I have a secret (or not so secret) wish for him to grow it long because I feel like he doesn’t have a “short haired kid personality.”
Brett just shook his head when I came out with that one. However, since I think he worried that I may start pining away for a girl, he graciously agreed to the growing Colin’s hair out experiment so long as I promised no ponytails or experiments with nail polish.
So Colin has been living with a full, bushy head of hair that seems to be growing wider instead of longer. Bedhead has new meaning with these locks. And as summer is now upon us, I see that living underneath all that hair may be a little warm and uncomfortable. But man, you should see how cute it is pulled back with a headband.
I’ve been working on Colin these past couple of days, pointing out how much his hair looks like his Daddy’s and how when it’s longer, you can see the waves in it. I’m having these conversations fully aware that my opinion is barely registering. I’m also fully aware that I’m trying to control his hair and that this behavior is not becoming to a mother. And that maybe my obsession with his hair might be the exact reason he wants to get rid of it.
So, I’ve let this one go. Sort of. Brett is on the hook to take the boys to the barbershop this week. My hunch is that with a tootsie roll for bribery and a barber that doesn’t speak very good English, Colin will come home sporting a short hair cut that has been dubbed the “ALMOST BALD KID’S SPECIAL.” With that we’ll get friends and family to call him “cue ball” for a couple of weeks.
And then, he’ll ask for some blonde highlights.
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