“If I’m hotshot, mum would cut my hair at night. And in the morning, I’m shorn of my identity. I spit mum and dad why can’t I be who I want to be?”
Thanks for the lyrics, Lady GaGa. Every time I look at my boys, these words come into my head.
My boys have long hair.
It was never a conscious decision, but somehow, around about last summer, we took our eye off the hairdressing ball and there they were. With long hair. And now they won’t cut it. And it really, really needs cutting.
They are lovely boys, but stubborn little sods when they want. My younger son says he’s not having his cut until it’s down to his mouth. My eldest’s is already down to his mouth.
It’s not the first time it’s happened either. I took the eye off the ball after my younger son was born and suddenly my eldest had lovely long hair. With his beautiful face, people thought he was a girl more than they thought he was a boy. He had it cut just before he started school. And now history is repeating itself. But doubled.
My husband spends a lot of time cursing their hair and saying it must be cut. But he doesn’t do anything about it. And I admit I’m a bit conflicted. Because I think it looks quite cute and cool. And I think it’s their decision. At 11 and 8, they are old enough to decide if they want long hair or not and they will take the decision to have it cut when they are ready. And they haven’t taken that decision yet.
Part of the problem is, we can’t actually find anyone to cut it. The hairdresser we all go to, who has been cutting my mum’s hair since she was in her 20s, hates cutting my kids’ hair as much as they hate him cutting it. He’s used to cutting old ladies’ hair, not fidgety boys, who sit there saying ‘Is it nearly done?’ every two minutes and dramatically coughing and spitting every time any hair gets near their faces.
So one of the mums from school started cutting it about 18 months ago. She came to the house to do it. Even better. She styled their hair, allowing them to keep it fairly long, but without it looking too unkempt. Then she stopped returning my texts.
One of my best friends is a hairdresser. So she cut their hair in April. She did a brilliant job. They kept some of the length, but she really tidied up the style. She told me she ‘loved doing it, but wouldn’t always be able to do it’. So I didn’t ask again.
And now it’s August. And they they haven’t had their hair cut since April. And it’s gone all lovely and blonde. And I like it blonde.
But my son is starting secondary school in a few weeks. And he was called ‘girl hair’ at football the other day. And mistaken for a girl by a student teacher a few months ago. He could get picked on at secondary school. He needs it cut.
Then there’s the nits. Our family has a long and seemingly never-ending battle with nits read about it here We had them again just before the end of term. Recently enough for me to have taken the zapping comb and the Vosene protection spray on our canal boat holiday. Every time we get them (it’s the boys every time) my husband shouts ‘You boys have to have your hair cut!’ And nobody does anything about it.
Last night I found the most nits I have ever seen in anyone’s hair on my younger son’s head. This is the final straw. The hair is being cut this weekend. I don’t know where. But it’s going to be done.