Monday, June 30, 2014
On the Hair Cutting Room Floor
Photos from the night after that first time Chris was brave enough to encourage my developing hair-clipping skill. Four months old and out on the town in Chicago. Some things never change.
I realized recently that I really am starting to feel married, and it's all because of the hair adorning my husband's head.
I've been cutting Chris' hair for a little over two years now. I read Amazon reviews for weeks as I normally obsessively do. It was a hairsplitting decision, but one day I finally bought this set. I turned to my trusty teacher who knows all (YouTube) and watched this cheesy video (if you want evidence on how naive I can be, I just re-watched the video and picked up on all the innuendos for the first time. I know).
I think it took me two hours to cut Chris' hair the very first time.
It's one of my most favorite moments that have made their way into our life since April 2, 2011. We somehow found ourselves in our tiny kitchen apartment at one in the morning. Ryan had woken from his never-ever deep slumber and was showing us what finicky meant so Chris was given the task of trying to keep his head perfectly still while lifting Ryan up and down, up and down, up and down and praying that I don't shave off an eyebrow of his. It was hilarious, and I loved every part about that moment. A fussy and finicky baby dangling from my husband's arms in the late night/early morning meant that the life I had dreamed was real as itchy and loud and silly as it was.
The hair cuts continued, but it became apparent that the hair honeymoon was over.
Don't tell Chris, but I fully admit that whenever I snipped away at his hair, I also picked away at him for something so incredibly serious and offensive like wanting to watch a theological debate instead of Runaway Bride or calling me "pretty" instead of "beautiful" or complimenting the green beans when I was really proud of the overcooked chicken. Yeah, I don't know why there isn't a line out the door for Katrina's Klassy Kuts either.
(Okay I just reread that confusing paragraph. I was trying to say that all of my fight-picking was senseless. I guess a senseless sentence fits there if it fits anywhere).
We may have been saving money by putting the shears in my hands, but when you include the time and overall pleasantness in our days lost because of the fights this Nervous Nellie would pick, it was a pretty expensive trim. I dreaded cutting his hair. It was so (not really) stressful, and I would get so pent up with nerves that an irrational fight was an automatic given.
So it was with happy heart when I was putting the cutting shears and clippers away just a bit ago that I realized that I had just cut Chris' hair with nary a fight and nary a minute wasted. We're getting somewhere, even if it as mundane as giving Chris a peaceful trim.
Just-because-flowers and wine and the like show wedded bliss, right? Sure, they're nice. Those are very appreciated. I love them. But really, I'm seeing it in the haircuts.