My boys have always sported long hair. Their soft golden curls were so sweet, and just unruly enough to give warning to strangers about their ways. It seemed like the very few times I cut it too short for my liking, half of their personalities got swept away with the fallen locks. I was the mommy who did a hack job with the junk drawer scissors, but luckily the wavy cow-lickyness was forgiving of my swift clips. It had to be because by the time I get them to agree to a cut I have about 37 seconds of wiggle-free time to get it done.
Now they're a little older, and as such their hair is changing, but still growing like them, the proverbial weeds. My dad is the one who typically prompts my trimming schedule, complaining that it's in their eyes at the breakfast table. Last night was "barbershop night" at our house for all three of my fellas.
I have upgraded to actual hair cutting scissors, and boy are they sharp. I can't seem to get through one round without taking a "V" shaped chunk out from between my knuckles. I guess better to cut myself than them, right? They're both super freaked out about clippers, so I save those for Jason's cuts. The boys get a lightning-quick scissor trim, but they're starting to turn into mini mullet monsters. It's my fault, I know that I have to get it out of their eyes and keep going until it's off their ears, but I just can't seem to bring myself to whack too much off the back. It's not a straight-forward business-up-front-party-in-the-rear setup, because there's not much seriousness in the front at all really. It's hard to take seriously a bang line that looks like Jabberjaw's dental work. Still, when I'm done, the curls sticking out from behind their little ears is quite a throwback, Esten's more than Clayton's, pushing memories of a "permullet" even. Billy Ray Cyrus would be proud one of these days if I let it go much further.
Billy Ray in his Achy Breaky days that is. I saw him once in the food court at the mall in Panama City, Florida in one of those "don't look now but..." moments. And so I didn't look even though he was right behind me, but waited patiently until I was done eating and got up to leave. I tried to eavesdrop, but outside the southern drawl I couldn't make out a word. As I passed his table I looked back over my shoulder and burst out laughing, and he was not impressed. It turned out to be an exact Chinese version of Billy Ray, and he was rockin' his chullet (Chinese mullet)with some acid washed jeans. Probably one of THEE funniest things ever, though I still feel bad for the guy. I hope he eventually traded that trend for something a little more "Seattle-ish", whatever that means, but I think it would have suited him better.
I'm allowed to laugh about this of course, because I rocked the mullet (permullet) myself and generally think the past is best left there, in the past. But it's important to learn from our mistakes, and the mistakes of others or we're doomed to repeat it, right? I just can't understand how a haircut that clearly looked so ridiculous on so many for so long looks unbelievably adorable on my two little monkeys. Maybe it's because they're carrying half of their daddy's genes, and he was super cute in HIS mullet back in the day? Doubt I'll be bleaching or shaving patterns into their little sides any time soon though. That said, I'm glad their daddy finally gave the mullet up since I'm more of a sucker for a clean cut guy. I'm sure he's glad I gave mine up, too...there's still a picture or two from back in the day that are best lost forever, just like my Achy Breaky Heart tape.