Time has been on my mind this week.
Not because I'm baking meringues, or because I'm on a horrible deadline, or because I'm building a time machine back to the age of the dinosaurs so I can ask Tyrannosaurus Rexes if the reason they're so angry is because they have such limited movement in their arms (in which case I can identify) but because last week had a three-day weekend.
Now I love a three-day weekend, but what I don't love is spending the four days after it tripping over myself ( thankfully not literally) trying to pack 5 solid days of work into four, and trying to remember what day I’m in.
If I’m honest, a whole part of my head is still in April. Or maybe even further back. And I’m extra time challenged, because on May 26th, Lachlan turned 18. My baby son is now an adult. How and when did that all happen?
And just like I can work out what day it is, I can't work out how I feel. I am simultaneously both happy and sad. I miss the wee guy with the round face and glasses who loved nothing better than to snuggle up and watch Shrek, or to show me his favorite Pokémon cards, or to gather all of us together to demand we play Uno, just as much as I am loving meeting the man he is becoming.
For the past year, Lachlan had been growing his hair, and so had a kind of Leif Garret mode about him. (Never tell him I wrote that.)
But for his birthday, he wanted (amongst other things) a buzz cut and his ears pierced. And even though he’s 18 and I am just his old decrepit mother, he wanted me to come along with him.
So I booked a hair appointment at the barbers that he liked the look of, and I sent him a selection of ear piercing places in the valley, and he picked the one he liked. We agreed to do both on the same day. Hair first, then ears.
On the run-up to the transformation, he started to get a bit antsy. And then the night before, he came into the living room and, sitting down beside me, asked me if I thought he was doing the right thing. I smiled and told him it was impossible for me to answer for two reasons: One, because I've seen him change so much over the years that I only ever know him as a masterpiece in progress. And two, because the only person who knows the answer as to how he should look really has to be him. And we had a bit of a laugh about the red streak he had in his hair when he was 10 that inevitably turned pink. And about when he died his hair lime green in middle school. And for a moment, it felt like he was five and just back from karate class, and we were talking about whether we should decorate his bedroom the same colors as the original Batman.
I took a photograph of him outside the barbers so that we would have one for comparison, and when we checked in, the guy behind the desk looked panicked. Marvelling at Lachlan's flowing locks, he asked if we knew that we were booked in for a buzz cut and not a scissor cut. And we both smiled and nodded.
I know I wasn't imagining it that people were worried, because when Lachlan sat on the barbers chair and the hairdresser brought out the electric razor, a woman next to me actually gasped, and a balding middle-aged guy, wearing chinos that were at war with his expanding waistline, stared like there was an emergency and somebody ought to be doing something.
The hairdresser double checked with Lachlan that he was sure, and he nodded and gave her precise details as to what he wanted. And then all eyes were on the kid with the flowing locks putting on the gown.
I'm not going to lie, seeing people's reactions as the long flowing flocks started hitting the floor, I might have been a little anxious. But then I figured that even if Lachlan hated the cut, we would handle it. That’s the thing about kids. They're not one-size-fits-all, and each one teaches you how they want you to parent.
The hairdresser spun the chair around as she cut, allowing Lachlan to see the progress in the mirror for the first time. And then there it was. The giant grin. Pure happiness.
And I guess it is infectious because it was like the whole barbershop joined in. Everyone loved that he loved it. The lady who had gasped clapped her hands together in joy, and the middle-aged guy in the war with his chinos actually smiled.
I took a photograph of Lachlan outside the barbers and showed it to him, and he said the haircut was even better than he'd expected. I asked if he'd been nervous and he laughed and said that underneath the gown his legs were actually shaking. Then he added, “But you can't be afraid of a haircut, now can you?”
Next came the ear piercing. Of the places I'd offered him, Lachlan had selected a nearby tattoo parlor that also does piercings. He liked it because it was a family business and they'd been in the Valley for years. So then I talked to the owner on the phone, and he was actually completely lovely, so it seemed like a safe bet.
When we arrived there, I was, you could say, a bit surprised. I couldn't work out if it was a full-time tattoo parlor or a part-time film set. It was literally the stereotypical version of a dodgy cinematic tattoo parlor, with guys outside with face tattoos of tear drops listening to death metal. As we walked towards the door, I asked Lachlan if he was happy with the place, and he nodded, assured. Then we passed the guys with the face tattoos listening to death metal, and I reckoned if the middle-aged guy with the angry chinos thought I was irresponsible before, he should look at me now.
The guy at the front desk wasn't the guy I had talked to on the phone. I could have guessed this because the guy on the phone didn't sound like he had a deathly expression or had pleated his beard into pigtails.
I said I had called, and he looked at me blankly, and then handed us a set of forms to fill in before the ear piercing would happen.
Lachlan, nonchalant, took the clipboard and started to fill in the paperwork, while I looked around. A couple were at the front desk making an appointment for a tattoo. She wanted a giant tattoo of the Grinch on the side of her neck, to match the giant tattoo of the Grinch he had on the side of his. Romance does indeed come in many forms.
People pottered in and out, each one an interesting character in their own right. The place was so over the top that I wondered that when nobody was there, they probably listened to Chopin or maybe the Carpenters and talked about sales at the Costco or the Wayfair.
I’ve been to some dodgy places in my time, and definitely been up to some hijinks that may have terrified someone with a less Cumbernauldian soul, but none of them unsettled me as much as this place, because in those places I wasn't with my son. But Lachlan was cool with it. In fact, when we went to the room where his ears were to be pierced, “with toothpicks.” Lachlan turned to the man with the pleated beard and asked him to turn off the death metal for a bit, because he didn't find it relaxing.
The guy with the pleated beard looked at him with astonishment, and then turned off the ‘music’. Lachlan said thanks, and the guy with the deathly expression and the pleated beard said, “No problem, man”
And ten minutes later, my son was all smiles with his ears pierced, and the guy with the pleated beard was all smiles and told us to come back any time, and we walked to the car with the sound of death metal fading in the distance.
Outside, Lachlan and I laughed, part with happiness, part with relief.
“Weren’t you a bit scared?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said. “But I wanted my ears pierced, and do you think that guy doesn’t know about piercing? And most of the places he pierces are likely more tricky than ears.” He winked and I laughed, and I marvelled how I could love him as my child but also as a fully grown person.
“Anyway, you’ve always told me I don't need to be frightened,” he said, “So anxious, yeah. Nervous, fine. But not frightened."
On the drive back home, we picked up some donuts, and I thanked him for letting me come on this trip with him, and he laughed, thanking me for paying, and we both talked excitedly about what people might say when they saw his new look. And I was overwhelmed by how much time passes yet in some ways doesn't, and for how intensely grateful I am. For all of it.
“Promise me one thing,” I said.
“What?” he answered, digging into a donut.
“Promise me that if you ever do grow a beard, you won't pleat it into pigtails.”
“Deal,” he said, laughing so much, he nearly choked on his donut.
I am all over the place with time this week. I can't quite land on what day it is, and sometimes I’m not even certain of the year. I have no answer as to how a once tiny baby can suddenly be a man, other than it seems that time can suddenly just frickin run away with you.
What I will tell you is that my youngest son is kind, he is noisy, and he can devour a pack of donuts faster than anyone I've ever met. And I learned this week that he is brave.
xo
PS: Every time you click on the wee heart emoji on this post to like it, the guy with the pleated beard pleats another pigtail. That’s a complete and total lie - he doesn’t live by anybody else’s rules - but if you click ‘like’ it doesn’t half perk up my algorithm.
P. P. S: If you enjoy talking/listening/stories/ random facts, come and join me and Mr Tweddle this Thursday at Fish and Bear. First time is free, gratis, and a gift from us so you can try it out. After that, it’s $10. xo
And because I am totally showing off - look, I have a book for sale. Written when I had two fully functioning arms - though no better grasp of punctuation.
Volume 2 is available now: US, UK, Can, Aus
Audiobook link https://amzn.to/3Dh0MVP
If you do buy a copy, please leave a review on the site as it helps people know that I write in proper sentences… erm sometimes xo
I'm glad he's happy with the buzz. It's shocking when done the first time. As far as donuts after, I would be hoping for sausage rolls. 😉
Mine is 19, and I was right where you are throughout the second half of his last year of HS. The missing his younger selves fades a bit.
I always let my kid do whatever he wanted to his hair. It was the one thing in life he had total control of. He got a faux hawk one year, then decided a mullet was a good plan. He looked good, AND it horrified people - twofer! He’s decided on a local college to save money both on tuition and rent. Then we’ll see. As much as I know I’ll miss him, I desperately want him to find his people, his next family, his wings. No one told me the hardest part of being a mom is always having a split heart.