haircut

Well, it is that time of year again or as one mom put it, "the most wonderful time of the year!" This is the time of year when our dear little charges dressed in their brand new clothes with their brand new giant backpacks reminiscent of turtle shells wave good-bye to their parents and head into those hallowed halls otherwise known as freedom, er, I mean school. This is the time of year when I can barely contain my tears as we near the red brick building. This year will be no different. This year we finally enter kindergarten! We are moovin' on up to the second floor. After an extra year of pre-k, my son is graduating to real school. He is ready. We are ready. This time of year is always bittersweet for me. I dread the end of summer. I nearly cry when the pool closes only to be drained and remain a bleak empty concrete hole for nine months. The light changes. Days shorten and leaves fall. Winds pick up and my beloved lake will turn gray and frosty. I hold on to summer until I'm too cold and chicken to venture out on my frosty lake with board in tow. But we are not there yet. It is still warm with plenty of sun and paddleboard time left. With my son joined to my hip at every waking moment this summer, I am looking forward to a little me time. Those few glorious hours I don't have to worry about child care and can race off to run or paddle or treasure hunt for the shop. Whatever I want! My personal freedom. Don't get me wrong, I love my child more then life, but this summer has been challenging. Age 5 was tough. The constant arguments over getting dressed, getting a bath, getting in the car, getting his hair brushed, etc. etc. Fiercely independent and taking no prisoners. No being the operative word. The main word of his vocabulary. He wields that word like a finely sharpened saber aiming at me every chance he gets. Even now as I write I am interrupted by a thud and a "don't come down here", yeah right, like that's going to happen. As I trudge down the steps I find him climbing out the window seeking his independence. Lord, all mighty this little big man is going to put me in my grave. Boys. Never take your eye off them. As you can see, I'm ready. Ready for someone else to take over for a little while. Time for Catholic school. Time for conformity at it's finest. My husband and I have our reasons why our son will spend his school career dressed in uniform and playing by different rules. Rules that even at our age would have trouble abiding, being fiercely independent and strong willed ourselves. This was my husband's path and so it will be our son's. Free spirits don't like rules yet such is life, play the game. The hardest part of this whole business is not the uniform or the religion, but the haircut. This I hate. Who cares how long your hair is? The Catholics care so therefore we cut. After almost 6 years of long blond surfer tresses the hair had to go. I was dreading this moment. His hair was his personality. Wild and defiant yet beautiful. I was fearful if the hair went so would that spark that defines him. I likened it to Sampson. At that my mother-in-law scoffed at me and said if I made it a big deal so would he. Well, I have to give credit where it's due because she was right. As my girlfriend prepared to cut and my son peered at me from under his locks with those steely blue eyes, I held it together. If he saw me upset it would only go to Hell in a hand basket from there. For an hour my brave child held still while my friend razored and snipped and snipped and snipped. When at last his face emerged and I saw the brilliant smile as he flipped back what was left of the front, I saw a boy. My baby was gone and I was left with this tiny version of my husband. At that moment the tears came. He flung the smock to the floor, stood taller and flashed me my husband's grin as he went about his six year old business. Hugging my friend, my anxiety gone, I realized he was ready to fly and I was the one holding him back. Growing up is hard, especially for this mom. So freedom, I mean kindergarten, here we come! Good evening world.