Big News!

Pretty big news at our house.

Huge.

Amazing.

Last night, Eric wanted a haircut.  Ryan and Richie needed haircuts.  Since I needed Eric to stay de-haired so he could give wash downs (when everything in your house is Thomas and Friends-ified, showers are wash downs).  Richie settled in for his haircut easily.  Those beautiful golden curls start to straighten a bit when the weather cools and dries, so he needed a trim.  He was great as usual, and his haircut was over in no time.

At our house, we just plop in the floor in front of me, and I cut their hair.  No stress, right?

Usually Ryan freaks out.  Shaking, crying, sweating, thrashing, uncontrollable meltdown.  He just can't handle it.  I've tried for years to figure out what exactly causes it, and have tried so many different things to make it easier that I've lost track.

The best we've done in the past is when he starts out reciting the haircut social story on the iPad, reminding himself the steps they teach in the story.  Still, he winds up holding his ears, crying, shaking, and screaming stimmy words like WAAWAAWAA by the time we're done.

This time something I've used in the past finally helped.  I asked if he'd like me to use the clippers or scissors, and he said, decisively, "scissors."

Okay, buddy.  Here we go.

Honestly, I was just hoping we could get through this without traumatizing him... again.  I was hoping I could get this done without accidentally taking an eye out or part of an ear!

First few cuts, no big deal.  He was quoting the social story, ad-libbing here and there.

He did cover his eyes a few times.

Eric came in to check on him because he couldn't believe that he was being so quiet.

He made it through the whole haircut.  THE.  WHOLE.  HAIRCUT.

He got up, walked around the corner to the kitchen, looked in the glass of the oven door, and said, "You like your haircut."  and "Good job, Mom."  Both in his newscaster voice, but no less heartfelt than any of us who understand pronouns and tone of voice.  

I want to say he's getting better, but that sounds like he was sick.  He isn't sick.  He needs help figuring out how to cope with things that feel different, sound louder, and everything seems to impact him more than it does you and me.  He is loving, sweet, smart, and funny.  He's everything and more I had always hoped my children would be.

They are all three gifts from God.  Gifts to my life, to my husband's life, and to our families' lives, not to mention the countless others they'll come across.

If you'd asked me ten years ago if all of us... and I mean ALL of our little family... would be happy dancing and nearly in tears over a haircut, I'd have either laughed or looked at you like you had lobsters crawling out your ears.

Thanks be to God for turning me inside out, upside down, and teaching me every day about real happiness, joy, and contentment.  I never would have signed up for some of these things... but I would not trade anything I've learned.