Meet My Son, Sampson

It started with a spritz of water.

Of course, it is my fault because I should have told the stylist that Jake fears and loathes the idea of water on, near, or even spoken of in relation to, his head. (Washing his hair is a weekly, much-dreaded ritual that requires tears, pleading, and fear -- and that's just on my part.)

Yes, we tried to get Jake's hair cut. I thought we did everything right. We talked about what would happen. We excitedly speculated on how cool he would look, and how impressed everyone at school would be. We brought the mini DVD player so he could watch Mickey Mouse in "Twice Upon a Christmas" (aka "Million Upon a Never-Freaking-Ending Christmas" given its heavy rotation year-round) while getting his hair cut. He got the choice of sitting in Poppy's lap or in the way-cool seat shaped liked a car (he chose the car). We promised treats.

But nooooooo. As soon as the first spritz of water hit his head, the arms went up, and the screaming began. And I do mean screaming. Loudly. At the top of his lungs, not to mention vocal register. He got so worked up that we couldn't even talk him down or through it. The stylist stood by helplessly. Unlike some, she didn't try to gut it out, she just refused to touch him. Of course, the other customers looked on in semi-horror. Which, let's be clear, doesn't actually bother me; I don't care what they think about my parenting skills. I do want Jake to learn that he has to respect other people and screaming and making people flinch is not respectful. And I don't want him terrified, either.

Once we reached the point where calm reason and hugs could reach him, we had to leave. (You can't not give in to the tantrum on something like this, it's not fair to the innocent bystanders.) On the way home, we had a long talk about bad behavior and consequences -- as in, no, we were not going to McDonald's and no, he could not watch videos or play when we got home, he could go to bed. We love him, nothing will change that, and he can always have hugs and kisses, but bad behavior results in consequences.

We reinforced the lesson with another personal grooming session. He badly needed his toenails cut (I used to do it in his sleep, but now he wakes up!). I told him that if he let me cut his nails with no crying, screaming or flailing, he could have two M&Ms. That would be his reward for good behavior. If he didn't have good behavior, no M&Ms and no bedtime story. It was hard, but he gutted it out and let me lop off the oh-so-valuable toenail body parts. Hurray! Celebration dance, high fives, hugs, kisses, and M&Ms all around. I asked him after I tucked him in which felt better, good or bad behavior, and he actually said, "Good!"

Let's hope a lesson was learned. Meanwhile, he's starting to look like an Ewok. Soon we'll have to use barettes to hold his hair back...