Tress Distress

The screaming and wailing and rending of garments and gnashing of teeth that you may have heard this weekend was nothing more than Al's violent protests against a long overdue haircut. I don't care what the experts say--I sincerely believe the boy may possess nerve endings in his hair strands because that kind of crying and snot-spraying could only be precipitated by some sort of serious injury.

Miraculously, Al emerged unscathed, save for a gappy-looking haircut. I managed to cut my finger pretty good.

This was the worst haircut experience yet. After Al's second store-bought haircut last spring, I swore that I would never again subject poor little blue-haired ladies to that kind of scandal during their weekly beauty appointment. Then, we had a couple of not-so-horrible-but-nowhere-near-pleasant haircuts here at home over the summer. The last two--the worst two--have involved all three of us. I seriously wonder if Daddy's Boy isn't playing it up a little for his pa's benefit. Next time, I'm taking him to one of those just-for-kids places, and we'll see what happens with experienced professionals who are equipped to deal with difficult, haircut-hating toddlers.

If no blood is spilled, it will be an improvement.

Why get a stupid haircut when I could be throwing dirt and stomping cow patties?
Parents just don't understand.