Therapy Jar

10 years ago, when Eli was just an infant, and one long, hard, feverish (me, not him) day, I left him in his crib to bawl while I huddled in the kitchen trying to find solace in a pint of ice cream, I developed this mental image of the therapy jar. It's just a plain old Mason jar. Rather large. Dusty. It sits up on a windowsill in my mind. And everytime I have a parenting mishap I mentally slip my spare change into the therapy jar to save away for the counseling my mothering will surely necessitate. I'm not actually setting aside any cash- just mentally preparing myself for the fact that I am going to have to come up with money for the bills at some point. I like to think that for the most part I make pretty sound parenting decisions and behave myself in an upright and respectable manner. But there are those other times. Dumb old tantrums when the boys push too far. I can get fairly dramatic when needed. One time my tantrum incorporated some thrilling venetian blind theatrics- but as I stormed around I was mentally slipping the coins into the jar- a practice that I like to think keeps even my most rageful moments somewhat grounded. Anyway- just this past week two friends were sharing stories of their own therapy jar incidents that in the retelling made me chuckle hard- partly because in the space between when the incidents happened and the telling of the tales these parents were able to laugh at themselves, but also in relief that other parents whom I deeply respect are making these forays into inperfection as well. The thought of the fabulous shower yelling from one mom and the cries of "I'm blind! You blinded me!" from the dad who had just been beaned in the eye with a webkins give me strength as I slip more coins into the therapy jar due to the mishap in our basement last night.

I took the clippers to Eli's head.

The kid's hair has been in his eyes for weeks, but Jon and I have not been organized enough to get him to a barber. To be fair- Theo's hair is even longer, but that kid's curly mop somehow springs up and out of his eyes so doesn't seem as bothersome. Anyway- last night we were asking the boys if they wanted to head downstairs for an appointment with the clippers- something we have done off and on throughout their lives- or have us make them an appointment to get it trimmed at a salon. Theo instantly chose the trim. He wants the least amount of hair cut off that we will allow. Eli, who doesn't like to be bothered, chose the clippers. The thought of having to drive to a salon and then undergo a shampoo, maybe a head massage, and then a cut and blowdry, he coudn't take it.

As soon as he agreed to the clipper route I hustled him downstairs. And down there, in the dim light, I shaved him nearly bald. Now this is the same cut we have given him off and on for years. And he has never minded. But I didn't factor in that now he is 10. Almost 11. And he kind of cares about what he looks like. Kind of. Enough to be distraught that his mother had shaved him nearly bald at a time when the shaggy long haired look for boys is all that. He didn't yell or scream or have a tantrum. Just looked in the mirror and sagged beneath the weight of the thought of heading off to school the next day with this awful haircut. My heart broke to see him fingering what was left of his locks with pure dismay in his eyes. He growled at me a little. Gave me some dirty looks. I tried for a hug and some reassuring words, but he was having nothing. Shrugged me off. When I asked him what kind of damage I had done on a scale of 1 to 10- 10 being that he was seriously considering murdering me in my sleep, and 1 being that it was horrid, but he could live with it, maybe eventually happily??? he answered with a loud 9. Well, could have been worse.

This morning he woke up smiley, but then while brushing his teeth caught sight of his reflection and sagged again. But this time the sag did come with a little devilish grin playing around the lips as he asked about the possibility of getting some extensions (how does he know about those?) or atleast just gluing some of it back. Maybe he's coming around. Although I did notice that as he walked off down the sidewalk to meet up with the walking line he did pull up his hood. It was not that cold out.

Now as I write this, I realize that this incident is not one that I probably have to chuck money into the therapy jar for Eli. I think this one is about me. Eli's hair will grow- and really- he is not yet that concerned about his appearance. Watching him sag like that- under the weight of something I had done to him- that's where the price on this one comes in. And I'm the one who's paying it. Those clippers might be retired for awhile. And I better dust off a second jar. shoot.