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Poor Boy Wonder… he can’t catch a break on his hair. Lately, more and more people have been referring to him in the feminine. It’s become a race between the two of us as to which of us can say “Boy!” first after another mistaken identity. Recently, we were in Danish Made sneaking a much earned treat after a grueling shopping trip to JoAnne’s (Have any of you Astorians been in JoAnne’s lately? MOBBED! Somebody sprinkled crafting dust on the population of our small town and every one of us was down there fighting over the grosgrain ribbon!). We were greeted with, “How are you ladies. . .” and we both shouted, “BOY!” before she could finish. Just for the record, those donuts at Danish Made are the bomb! But you didn’t hear it from me.

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A year ago Boy Wonder decided he wanted to grow his spiffy short haircut out a bit. But I don’t think he ever meant to look this cherubic. It’s not his fault either. Sadly, both of his parents have been preoccupied with so much work that the whole beauty maintenance routines have been put on perma-hold. I’ve not had a haircut since June…but I’m also not a nine year old boy. To make matters worse, when his bangs get too long and begin to really frustrate him, I haul out my hair scissors and whack away. The result being his cute mopish haircut of last summer is taking on a distinct page-boy shape. Despite the name, page-boys are not masculine.

We are used to people thinking he looks like a girl—it’s been that way since the beginning. No amount of blue baby clothes then, or death-rocker sweatshirts now can convince people that those sweet cheeks belong to a boy. I’ve actually had people say, “But, he’s too pretty to be a boy!” When I look at him, I don’t get it. Because I see my kid for who he is, which is so much more than his gender. Fortunately, he seems to have a good sense of self and finds the confusion funny. However, his hair was getting too long even for him. Like most people in my family, our hair tends to do this cute little flip when it gets to a certain length… and for Boy Wonder it was just too much!

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But it was Santa who finally got this kid’s parents motivated. Our local fire department does a food collection each year, where they outfit their rigs with lights and parade through the neighborhoods gathering up canned goods. This year, as the truck with Santa passed by our house Santa looked down and said, “Merry Christmas, little girl!” All three of us nearly hit the pavement for laughing.

Me: “So, you think it might be time to get a haircut, huh?”

Boy Wonder: “You think? Mom, it’s bad if even Santa can’t tell I’m a boy!”

IZ: “So much for Santa being omniscient! I’ll make the phone call tomorrow.”

That was a week ago. Yesterday, it was finally time for our appointments. All three of us filed in to submit our overgrown locks to the mastery of Kimberly. (Who also rocks, if you need a good haircut at a decent price! She’s amazing!) We arrived as overgrown shaggy messes and departed reborn, as boys! Ok, well—one of us did.

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After his cut he looked at me with his trademarked twinkle and said, “I’m so keeping this haircut.” That’s 10 year old code for, “Don’t make me hurt you to get another appointment in a month.”