It’s just hair
I got my hair cut before Christmas. Really cut. Super short.
I picked Liam up from school and because I’m raising a thoughtful and sensitive male (excuse me while I pat myself on the back) this is how he responded: Liam placed his hand gently on my arm and said, “Mom, you got your hair cut. Is something wrong? Is there something we need to talk about?”
Oh that precious boy who thinks a haircut might be a midlife crisis.
So I told him the truth.
Aidan pulls my hair. Hard. He doesn’t pull everyone’s hair but he pulls mine. His skinny little fingers easily get laced in my long straight hair. It hurts. A lot. On my less stellar days I’ve ended up cussing him out. This lends itself to quite a bit of mother guilt.
But here is where my long hair and his tiny digits leave me – Aidan’s either a bully and a jerk who pulls hair or he doesn’t quite understand that I’m in pain. Do you see how both of those are a lose/lose for both of us? Aidan is smart. He’s shown that over and over. I hate considering his cognitive deficits but in this case I also don’t buy it. But he’s certainly not a jerk either. Is he?
So I cut my hair. Saved myself some pain and complicated conversations in my head.
I told all of this to my big boy who understands that nothing is quite as it seems in our house.
Liam then looked at me and asked, “So, it’s a girl’s sister’s job to tell her the truth about her hair, right?”
Of course. Obviously. Husband are for the, “Wow- you look amazing!!”
“Then I think I’ll call your sister.”