Last night, I needed a haircut and decided to take Tobin with me. I was a little worried about how he would do in a new environment, and part of me wondered if he would take my time in the chair as an opportunity to escape to toddler freedom. Instead, he turned on the charm and pulled out the stops on the smart-boy routine. While we waited, he asked to read some of the books stacked up in the waiting area. The woman sitting next to us had mentioned that she had a two-year-old at home. Tobin told her that he is two and a half, then seemed to make the next few minutes a demonstration of the inherent superiority of two-and-a-half-dom.
He brought a book to me and read every capital letter on the front cover: "T-U-E-S-D-A-Y. What that says?"
"Tuesday," I said.
"Today is not Tuesday?"
"Right. Today is Monday."
He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and frowned as if figuring his harvest after a season of drought: "No. Monday is not Tuesday. Hmm."
The woman next to us looked up and said "I don't even know if my son knows 'A.'"
When called to the chair, I pulled up a seat next to me for Tobin to sit in. He watched raptly while Tammy used the clippers and scissors. He didn't say anything for a while, so I broke the silence, "Do you like my haircut?" He didn't respond for a while, so I asked again, reminding him that he could say yes or no.
He thought again for a second, then said "'Yes' is a word I can say with my hands, so I say it like this." Then he made the sign for yes with his hand.
Tammy said "He knows sign language?" I explained he knows some. Tobin talked a little more about the blue pickup truck in his pocket, then it was time to go. When we got home, I asked him to tell his Mama where we had been. He exclaimed, in a voice that I choose to interpret as proud of his dad, "Daddy got a haircut; and he didn't cry!"