3 years ago......this was our usual experience. What a long way we've come.......

Sitting in the parking lot at SuperCuts....................heart rate is beginning to spike. Doing some deep breathing exercises. Wishing I had a xanex. Or a flask of something maybe - to calm down. I creak open the car door and get out. Time to get it over with.......

This is what I used to lovingly refer to as "haircut hell - rockstar style". I would let poor Rock's hair get so long he couldn't even see so I could avoid doing this. I'll explain why.............

As soon as we hit the door of whatever salon or quick cut establishment we haven't terrorized yet - he starts to freak. I wrestle him into the seat and tell the stylist "don't even bother" when she tries to put the black cape on him. Some poor girls even try to get a cape with spongebob or mickey mouse on it. Nice try. He's up and running around. I clue the stylist in on the "Big A" and tell her she will get a huge tip if she can even remotely get his hair out of his eyes. I get in the seat myself and try to coax him up with a sucker, or french fry, or tic tacs I found in the bottom of my purse. Anything. Finally - I get him in my lap and keep him in a chokehold while the unlucky hair stylist tries to cut his hair.

Hair is going everywhere. It's itchy. It's sticking to both me and the Rock. He's hot and wiggly. Then she gets out the electric clippers.

Oh no.

I guess it was the sound of having something so close buzzing around his ear but that was the last straw. He basically does a full olympic gymnastics routine to get out of the chair - hair sticking to him everywhere. Customers in other chairs are staring. I give him a quick once over as he whizzes towards the door and decide that I can see his eyes, so maybe that's good enough. I throw $30 at the poor girl (even though the haircut is $8) and we bolt out of there. Later that night - i sneak into his room and cut some stragglers while he's asleep. It definitely looks better, but kind of looks like someone cut his hair with a chainsaw.

From that day forward, we paid his ABA therapist to take him to "haircut hell". She's done a heck of a job because just last week I took him in SuperCuts by myself. I was a little nervous, but optomistic. I said "where are we"? He says "haircut". Good - at least he knows what's up. He walks in, sat in his own chair with his own black cape on and sang along to the Lady GaGa song that was playing in the salon while a nice lady cut his hair. Buzzers and all. He even smiled at himself in the little mirror when she was through. I didn't need candy or promises to go to Mcdonald's. I actually read 3 pages of a Cosmo while he was "gettin his hare did".

Maybe it's maturity. Maybe it's therapy. Maybe it's prayer. Who the heck knows. All of this to say - it gets better.

Thank God because I was about to start telling people he was a girl to avoid the haircuts..............................