Shearing Time

The time had come. Everyone, including Molly, had a mop. A long, unkempt, notty mop. This time was different, however. We decided to do the shearing ourselves. We pulled out the clippers and the scissors and the tall chair. Then we prepared the restraining seat.

Dawson only needed a few snips, but he was certain to be the least cooperative. We asked Caleb if he wanted a haircut and he said, "Baby's turn." So Dawson went first. He squirmed and wiggled and fussed and turned red in the face, but I held him tightly. Sarah got her few well placed snips in. Some weren't so well placed because holding him still was no small job. Shortly he was done. He does everything shortly. Since she hadn't cut any hair in a while, Sarah was nervous and thought she ruined him, but he looks adorable. Good Job Sarah. Dawson was off with his bag of fruit snacks and a fresh haircut.

Next we geared up for Noah. He usually gets really upset and fights with all his might, but not today. He was extremely coopertive. Since he gets the full head clipper job, out came the clippers. Poor Noah was a little nervous when Sarah turned them on, but he leaned on Daddy and held my hand tightly. We told him, "Good Job Noah," which he repeated over and over. After some dancing around to satisfy both Sarah's need to have access to Noah's head and Noah's need to lean on Daddy, he was finished. He left with his bag of fruit snacks happy, and perhaps a little shaken from his ordeal.

Caleb's curly locks were notty and very voluminous, so he needed a good brushing to make him servicable with the clippers. Sarah was pretty good about not pulling his hair with the brush, but Caleb was already emotinally finished by the time the clippers came into play. He cried a bit and squirmed a little as the volumes of black curls came off. They added some contrast to the existing carpet of blonde fluff. Caleb was pretty difficult to edge this time, both because of technical problems and because Caleb wouldn't sit still. At one point I had to essentially force him to look down so Sarah could reach his neck. At last, the final bit of hair fell, and he ran away with his fruit snacks.

We had put it off long enough. Molly was in serious need of some grooming. I sat down and brushed her out. A few weeks ago, when we bought the brush, she nipped and yelped when I brushed her, but now she's used to it. The clippers were another story. Over the following two and half hours Sarah sheared and clipped and buzzed and snipped while I found ever-creative ways to hold her still and keep Molly's frequently bared teeth from sinking into our soft-sensitive flesh. I felt like I needed the French announcer from Sponge Bob to say, "Six hours later..."

Except for the occasional tuft of exposed black hair, the only hair visible on the floor became molly's distinctive reddish poodle-hair. She should be happy: she can, like, see now. I'm happy; it's fairly expensive to have her groomed. I can see why, too.





But it's over. I'm glad. That was a wild and crazy 4 hours of my life.

Afterward, Sarah went out and got a body wave done. I'm glad she got to spend some time out getting pampered. I took two of the boys to Sam's Club to get some supplies for the week and then all three to Woodchicks for "Free-fries" and "Krabby Paddies." Now I just need get my mop chopped.