I should really take this opportunity to talk about my new job and how happily surprised I am with it or maybe I should complain about how long this finishing building a house business is taking, but instead I have urgent and important news.
We cut Jamie's hair.
Poor James. Born with a hair growth pattern that most closely resembles that one Stooge, or perhaps a mad scientist, and as most often commented by others “just like an old man's”. Yes, it is true. It has hardly grown at all on the top and just grown OUT from the back and the sides in a wild curly mane that brings to mind electric shock therapy. When just bathed it is soft curls and I know, gag, boys with curls, but on my baby it was the most beautiful thing on earth. But then it kept growing and finally I realized that it was starting to resemble a mullet and you know what? I already live in a country ass mountain town and I really don't need to add “mullet” to the list of things that I currently have to endure. So I pulled out the scissors and we went outside and I attempted my first little boy's haircut. It didn't turn out as bad as I thought it would, especially when James took off and I had to chase my 18 month old around the yard with scissors in my hands. I know. I should write a child safety manual.
Before picture. See? Mullet. Yikes.
I'm a total hick. I cut my half-naked son's hair on the porch. Realizing I have reached a new low.
It's a little long on top, but that's only because I thought the child should experience longer hair on top like most normal children.
He seems rather taken with it.