But this time there was a lot of weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. I imagined we were in some movie version of our lives as she gripped the arm of the waiting chair for dear life as I attempted to bring her to the stylist’s station.
She bucked wildly and whipped her head around as much as possible while screaming and crying for the entire 10 minutes it took to cut her hair.
We tried sternness, time out, and threats. Then we moved pretty quickly to bribery.
“I’ll get you shave ice!”
“I don’t WANT shave ice!”
If this kid does not want shave ice, this is a seriously traumatic experience. I was totally mortified. The stylist sighed several times and tried to work around my arms as I held her down and tried as much as possible to cut Amaya’s hair straight.
When Jake saw her afterwards, he said, “It doesn’t even look different.”
I tell you, I don’t care. Even if she looks like Cousin Itt from The Munsters, there is no way we’re going back until she’s a lot older.