I know it seems like I have dropped off the face of the planet. Summer is such a busy time and it’s been so stinkin’ hot that my creativity has been laying in a melted puddle on the floor.
I feel like I am just now coming out of the fog and getting some of my mojo back.
Anyway, the other day my mother and I took Jake to get his hair cut. I hate taking him to get his hair cut. I would rather walk barefoot over a bed of hot coals. I would rather have my arm hair pulled out one at a time until I am completely hairless. I would rather have both my pinky toes broken, and…well…you get the point. (<- you might think I am kidding about all that, but I am not…you have no idea!)
He was starting to look like woodland creatures were making their nest in the back of his head.
He squirmed, he fought, he cried. No amount of cuddling or coddling could soothe him and no amount threats or stern words could still him. Promises of trains and lunch went unheard. Just tears and fear.
And that’s what it boils down to. Fear. Have you met anyone who fears haircuts?
Jake has always been weird about his hair. I think it comes from it being curly and people thinking that because it’s so curly they have a right to just come up and touch it. He hates people touching his hair.
I hated it at first. They cut it too short! All his pretty ringlets laid slaughtered on the floor.
It’s grown on me though and I have come to love his little boy haircut!
On a side note, doesn’t he have the BIGGEST eyes!?
I love him!