SP has a big day today: his first taster session at primary school. Even if he is currently adamant that he’s not going. Damn and blast not getting a laptop/printer/laminator/Velcro organised in time to create a visual timetable to reinforce in his mind the looming prospect of potentially-two-hours-of-your-life-kicking-and-screaming-at-a-new-environment. (Hey ho! That two hours I’ll be spending in the gym to stop myself from fretting.)
I’m not sure how early on other kids pass judgement over their new classmates…or, more likely, parents reconcile who their child can/can’t be friends with, but I decided that it’s possibly a good idea to try and resemble ‘normal’ as much as possible. This may, of course, be immediately undone with a swift bout of ear-piercing screaming, which will mark his card as the child-least-likely-to-get-a-party-invite, but, you know we can try. Plus, there’s every chance SP will love it.
Best then to attempt to send him in looking a little less feral than his naturally-inclined state.
Besides which, he also has hair that could only be referred to as Boris Johnson-esque. And if there’s one person you don’t want to be resembling right now it’s a National Liar with a dodgy barnet!
A friend (of whom I am deeply jealous) made the most of an early weekend wake-up (a Whaaaatt?!?!) to get her sons’ hair tonsorially sorted. Both of her boys looked angelically cute. The last time I took SP to the barber it ended in a scene so epically loud and messy it resembled The Exorcist had it been set during the makeover round of America’s Next Top Model. It’s amazing nobody lost a body part!
Needless to say, from then on preventing SP from resembling Cousin Itt has been an at-home DIY job. Moreover, when the drive-by snippings of Scissor Ninja failed (immerse in iPad, sneak up for a random snipping sand retreat before the tendril hits the floor) I took to nocturnal trimmings.
That’s right – I cut it whilst he’s asleep.
Which is fair to say is not ideal. Before now, Husband has accused me of giving SP a cut not too dissimilar from Al Pacino in Dog Day Afternoon. On another occasion he looked more like the Armish Ishmail in Kingpin. Shortly before our Disneyland trip I gave him a do that looked like I’d attacked his locks with hedge trimmers!
It says something though when battling a sweaty head, the inability to see both sides of the head at the same time and gravity (it’s always hard to judge the (relative) success of a trim until the morning when hair falls as its want to do, rather than at a 90 degree angle) is preferable to tackling the issue head on, so to speak. And that’s without consideration of the fact that I’m doing it whilst in the dark, juggling the torch on my phone along with the scissors so that I can see just enough without waking him up.
This morning I was able to judge my handiwork. Let’s just say I’ve had to reconcile myself to the fact I’m never going to have a son with the sort of Little Boy hair you see on Pinterest. Symmetry is so overrated. Well, at least it is when the alternative is the trauma of a barber’s chair.
I know that I really should face up to the issue of a proper hairdresser visit. The National Autistic Society has some great advice on getting a haircut done without too much trauma. But also, I feel, I only have the energy for so many battles.
If anyone can point me in the direction of a barber willing to do this though, that’d be great. Can’t there a be a register of ASD-friendly hairdressers, not to mention doctors, dentists, shoe-shop assistants?
So, for now, with or without the screaming it’s unlikely we’re going to fully pull off ‘normal family’. Ah, if they can’t like us as we are we wouldn’t want a party invite anyway.