Even I Can Call Myself a Martyr for This One

Earlier in the week, Barry said that he really wanted to take Canon to get his haircut. He had been talking for weeks about the fact that he wanted to let Canon's hair keep growing so that he would eventually have a Mullet. So you can imagine my excitement when he mentioned wanting to cut it!
Not to be outsmarted, however, I told Barry that since he was taking Canon to get the haircut (meaning that he got to decide how it was going to be cut) that I should get something out of it as well. I began scheming so as not be outdone by one of Barry's crazy ideas. Barry responded with a very non-chalant answer - I can't remember what his exact words were, but they led me to believe that my mature husband would return my still-a-baby son to me with a somewhat regular haircut. Some women never learn! I forgot who I was married to.
When I left work on the Big Day, I called Barry to see where he was. He was on his way back to the hospital with Canon, and he said that I should meet them there. When I arrived, this is what I found:

I am proud of myself for not screaming, crying, or even losing my temper. In truth, I really didn't say too much, except that I hated it (in a very calm tone) and that I couldn't believe he buzzed my toddler's hair (again, no aggression shown). And yes, I said "he buzzed" as in "Barry buzzed." After taking Canon to a legitimate hair salon (nicer than the one I use) and witnessing his uncontrollable screaming and uncooperativeness in the chair, Barry decided to have the stylist explain to him how to cut a child's hair into a Mohawk. He then took Canon home, stripped off his clothes, tuned his IPhone to an episode of Dora the Explorer on Netflix, and proceeded to use clippers to cut Canon's hair.
That night, I made Barry buzz the rest of the back off and tried to get him to let me trim the top just a little. After two snips, he told me to put the scissors down and leave it alone. He liked it just like that. I still can't believe I actually put them down. At least now we know what he's going to be for Halloween . . . something involving a spiked Mohawk.
Since then, Barry has come up with other rather ridiculous haircut ideas, especially for a one-year-old. I am still dealing with the notion that this is one of those battles that I am probably going to end up choosing not to fight. Instead, I will just have to live with the consequences of the decisions of an adult bald man living vicariously through a lustrously-haired young boy.