A handful of lemons.

08 Oct A handful of lemons.

It’s inevitable. Some things are just disappointing. not how we envisioned. downright sad-making.

It happens. Things don’t always go the way we plan them.

I’m pretty flexible. I go with the flow. But every one in awhile, I’ve met up with something that does not go quite the way I expected. And I gotta say… it’s a little heartbreaking.

It takes a minute to process.

A few years ago I flew to Chicago for my oldest boy’s boot camp graduation. I flew in the night before and was flying out the day after. A quick trip at the very end of January.
(It was cold, but not snowy. I missed a blizzard. It rolled in just hours after I left.)

I got off my plane, found my way to the trains, walked a few blocks through the incredible downtown I’d only ever seen in movies, took a moment to marvel at the river in the middle of one of the bridges, walked into a cafe and asked a cop for directions, and finally found my next train.

I met up with my son’s father and grandparents, got a good night’s sleep and woke early to get ready for the ceremony.

At breakfast someone realised they’d gotten the time of the ceremony wrong. We were late. We grabbed our things and headed to the base, through the gate, to the parking garage, down the stairs, and into the building to check in… only to be told

“The doors are shut. Ya hear the cannons? Means the doors are locked. Can’t get in. You can go wait in that room.”

We’d missed getting in by minutes only.

Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

My stomach dropped what felt like fifteen floors. It didn’t matter that it was a class of so many, dressed all the same, that I wouldn’t be able to pick him out in the crowd. I MISSED it!

I was heartbroken.

~~~

Yesterday, we took my youngest for his first ever haircut.

It was time. His hair was long and shaggy and falling in his eyes. I kept hoping it would curl up like his big brother’s, but no, my little man has mostly straight, sometimes wavy, locks.

So. Haircut.

I’ve been in love with one particular swirl of his hair since day one. So I told the girl I wanted to keep a lock from the back section.

She started cutting. And cutting and cutting. And before I even knew what was happening, we were almost done. I took a few photos. My fella asked if I got the lock of hair I wanted, I started to reply, the girl motioned all around her and said there’s pieces all over.

And my head started spinning.

She wanted me to pick up clippings!? Off the floor!? Was she fucking kidding!?!

I couldn’t process my thoughts fast enough to ask her to stop. I just started grabbing at fallen locks on the drape.

In the grand scheme of things it’s not a big deal. It’s just stuff. Ceremony. Tradition.

But for me, it’s missed moments.

Moments I can never get back. Moments that can’t be recreated. My oldest will not graduate boot camp twice. My youngest no longer has brand-new, un-cut hair.

It’s fine. I’m fine.

But if you’re a hairdresser and you’ve been gifted the incredibly special task of baby’s first haircut…

Please. Pause long enough to ask if we want a lock of hair. It might not seem important, but it could be. It could be.

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