A Head Case

In an [extended] family this size, there are bound to be a few nuts. I say that in the nicest way - as I know in the world of psychology, the word "crazy" is like dropping a smutty "F Bomb" on Mother Teresa's grave. So, I'm not making fun of private struggles with addiction, eating disorders, depression or otherwise obvious vices you might be in denial about. I'm just intending to demystify the neuroses we really all have, history or no family history - big family, no big family. We're all stark raving mad. So, unless you harm children, murder people or puppies, go ahead and embrace it. Hug it. Smoosh your nose in its fat, whiskery face. There is no such thing as normal.

So, of course at least one of my children is out of his ever-loving mind. Or as it seems the case - unable to be reasonable, calmed, bargained with or TALKED DOWN OFF THE LEDGE when it comes to having his hair cut. It would make sense to me - after the hundreds of trims I've performed - there would be evidence supporting the idea we should hold it together. Crying causes tears. Tears attract little cut pieces of poky hair. The nose starts to run. The compulsion to sniffle only vacuums those hairs straight into the face... which begs the question... Where's a straight jacket when you need one!?

How we get from needing to hold still so I don't cut huge clumps of unwanted hair to believing I maliciously ram the electric trimmer into his head so he's left to deal with the ridiculous "new look" is where I have not figured out my escape from the trip to Crazy Town. He seriously thinks I'm out to get him, trick him, or just screw up whatever he wants from me. I think it's a lose-lose. But we'll see. Maybe I'll just start him a separate savings for the professional help he's gonna need.