Baa baa shorn sheep…or is he?

I don’t know who got to school this morning, but George Clooney hopped in the passenger side of the backseat of our van and waved at me.  OK, it wasn’t George Clooney, but J certainly was sporting a definite whiff of the George Clooney je ne sais quoi this morning.  I couldn’t gauge HOW aware he was of today’s news crew visit to his classroom, but he was certainly aware that it was not just any regular Monday.

No, the Super Bowl didn’t go to his head.  We don’t do Super Bowl Sunday…except the part where Sunday is the day the bathrooms get cleaned…4 bowls, none of them -thankfully- super.  What might have affected him was yesterday’s haircut…it always goes to his head.  No pun intended.

Saturday’s moodiness had dissipated and, of course, we were left with Mr. Charm and “some more of that nice smelling soap, please!”  Sunday morning is not the most appropriate time to get up at 5 a.m., but J was all atwitter quite early.  Last night he was in bed by 9:30.  I think he was getting his beauty sleep in order to be camera-ready.

This morning, as he got ready for school, J looked in the mirror and smiled…not the kind of smile where you are simply ascertaining whether there is any gunk left on your teeth after brushing, but rather the kind of smile where you figure out if your left or right side is your best side.  J, I think, can’t seem to find a bad side…and he’s LOOKING!

So I’ve spent all day wondering how it went.  The phone has been alarming.  It never rings.  Today it’s been ringing off the hook for matters completely unrelated to J or school.  Call me a worry-wart, but I’ve been waiting for a call announcing he’s mooned the camera (and been suspended,) hogged the camera (and been pummeled by his classmates,) or acted like a diva (and demanded better lighting, a personal assistant and his own trailer.)  As soon as he steps off the bus, I will be fishing out the comm book and hoping he doesn’t reach out to autograph it for me.

Haircut days can be pretty traumatic.  It’s not that J’s attached to his hair or that he’s still afraid of the buzz of the machine, it’s just that he’s…well…very demanding about what he wants.  With his hand he moves the hair around to see if it falls with the desired effect, and then he moves his head while carefully studying his reflection in the mirror.  For approximately 20 minutes, he toys with my nerves and with my limited ability to coif him properly.  When he’s satisfied, I retreat to my room while he’s being bathed and rid of all the clippings that cling to him, and I issue a sigh of relief (as well as a prayer of thanks.)

I wish I could say that he then happily parades around with his new haircut and waits to be noticed or admired.  By the time we get The Great Gonzo to run out to oooh and aaah over the new look, the not-insignificantly sized head on that child is properly tucked inside the scrum cap.  Mention how closely shaved he is and J’s face will jut forward so you can touch his cheek and further admire the suppleness of his skin.  Tell him his soap has a lovely, fresh fragrance and he will stand closer to let you take a whiff.  Notice his clothes and mention how nice he looks, and J will stand up straight and smile.  Ask him about his hair and he will take that Rasta hat and curl it up so tightly on top of his head you are at risk of being knocked out if it springs up and hits you.  We see his head only when he bathes or when I beg him for a peek…

I can tell people he got a haircut, and the only proof I can give is the back of his neck.  “Hey, J!  I heard you got a haircut!” and he turns to show you the nape of his neck, peeking baldly above his shirt collar.  “Can I see it?”  Rasta hat gets rolled tightly.  I can see him now, the cameraman suggesting that maybe the kid will look better without the hats, and J -on principle- refusing to uncover his head.

I am sure we’ll catch a glimpse of him on TV.  Even in the distance, we will see the hats, seeming to float over everyone else…a UFO…Sasquatch…indistinct to others, but we’ll all jump up and down and say “LOOK!  It’s YOU!” and J will leaps and dance, and then he’ll probably clap his hands and wait for the accolades.  Oh, he’ll get them…we’ll tell him how nicely fragrant his soap is, how handsome he looked, how well his hats photographed…

I’m just glad I didn’t get a call saying “please, come get him!  He’s not behaving at all.  The strangers and the equipment seem to have unnerved him.”  For that alone, I think I’ll ask for his autograph…

 

UPDATE:

J has returned from school rather happy.  The account of his day in the comm book is very short, but states quite clearly that the interview went well and that they had fun.  There are no sticky spots that could hint at his teacher being bound with duct tape moments before she wrote in the comm book.  There are no jolts in the handwriting that would indicate she was tremendously anxious and happy to see him go.  So we will see this evening if we need to lay low for a week or so or merely change our names and move out of state.  Let’s just hope the dog treats sell, sell, sell…

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