This is a picture from a couple of days ago:
Look at his sweet little curls. I hate to cut them off, but I know I would go ballistic the first time someone commented on my "sweet little girl" so I had to do it.
I decided to get it over with this morning after their bath, but before I lost my nerve. I hate cutting my kids' hair. It's really evident afterward that I shouldn't handle anything more dangerous than safety scissors. Despite better judgement, I start hacking away...
...and he starts squirming and screaming bloody murder. Twenty minutes later, and ten minutes of Mr. A holding him down, he looks like someone attacked him with a weed whacker. I can't send him to school like that. All the other 2-year-olds will make fun of him.
Later, I get the idea that I could easily even things out with Mr. A's beard trimmer. (Every mom who is reading this is facepalming right here.) I can give you the soundtrack of how that went:
bzzzzzzzzzzzz
Shit.
bzzzzzzzzzzz
Shit!
bzzzzzzzzzzz
Oh, shit.
And so on, for about 15 minutes.
It was clear that there was no easy way to get through this one, so I just said, "fuck it."
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
I'm going to have to keep this kid in hair gel to make it look like this was what I was going for the whole time. The fact that it wasn't will just be our secret.
