The Business of LIfe in One Swig

Dawn of the Buzz Cut

Posted by betsy in Family on Jun 1st, 2010 | 2 responses

Elvis getting his Army Buzz. (Picture courtesy of suicideblonde.tumblr.com)

Oh Fuck.

That’s all I kept thinking.

Oh Fuck. Oh Fuck. Oh…. HOLY FUCK!

(not very family friendly I know, but it is what it is.)

I just made a huge mistake that I have to fix. And it isn’t going to be pleasant.

Thinking I’d save the $15 a buzz, I borrowed clippers from Flames. Her hubby — he of the like “save a buck” mind– regularly buzzes himself and his son and it looks great.

So I took my most pliable son, 3 y.o. Baby Lug, and sat him down. I read the directions, attached the guide and thought, “hell they do this isn’t the ARMY and there’s no way I, armed with 2 degrees and a fabby sense of style, can screw this puppy up.

Wrong.

First swipe down the middle, Baby Lug was fine. By the third though, he’s hysterical.

“It HURTS Mommy! Stooooooop Moooooommmy!”

Oh crap.

And there I was, with a kid with a 1/8″ reverse Mohawk.

Oh Fuck.

So what’s a Mommy to do, especially one that in no way hell is going to show up to her barber and visibly admit she’s a failure?

I kept goin’ and the howls of protest kept a comin’.

“Mom, I think you’re taking pieces of skin” says Mr. Man, by no means a natural advocate for his annoying little brother, kept checking in (he was next BTW.)

“There’s no blood.” And I kept going ’til it was done.

Shorn like a sheep Baby Lug, gulping air and sniffling. No blood. No scratches.

I was Mother of the Year.

Not.

I felt so awful, my own ego was what matter most. So I took my sweet littlest boy and apologized to him. “Mommy is so very sorry, and I will NEVER, EVER buzz you again.” And he, in his sweet little boy way, forgave me, (Sniffle) “Tis oh-tay Mama.” (sniffle) Hugs all around.

(I also informed a very relieved Mr. Man that he was going to the barber with his Dad come Saturday)

And I learned my lesson.

$15 was a small amount to pay so I could distance my children (and myself… really) from this horrific experience. $15 seems little compared to the future therapy bills my children and I need if I again played Barber.

One time, a long time ago, my unbelievably sage-like mother told me, “know what you’re good at, it’s ok to pay for the rest” at the time I had almost gassed myself cleaning my first apartment. So I went with a few less dinners out, nights clubbing or groovy shoes to pay for a weekly cleaning lady. I’m better for it (and probably more lucid.)

I promptly returned the clippers.

And TheBetsy’s world was, once again, at peace.

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