Your Turn, Boys.

Eleanore wasn't the only one that was due for a haircut. On my weekend to do list, was "cut Christopher's hair" and "cut Charlie's hair". I scratched both of those things off the list on Sunday afternoon, a pen in one hand, a pair of clippers in the other. The vintage red polka dot apron that I'm wearing in the picture is my "craft apron", even though its used for haircuts too. I'm pretty sure its one of the few things that I have left from the wonderland of a thrift store known as the Portland Bins, and I love it.

We sat baby boy down in his high chair with an assortment of Glutino crackers to distract him, and I did as much hair buzzing as I could, as quickly as I could. I meant to keep it longer on the top, but once I got started, there was no turning back. It doesn't matter how his hair is cut though, hes a handsome little man that looks adorable no matter what, amIright?

As soon as I finished Charlie's hair, I moved onto Christopher's hair. Same ol' same ol' for him. Short on the top, even shorter on the sides. I love it when his hair has been freshly cut. What I don't love though, is when his course little hair slivers get lodged into my skin like splinters, which happens way more often than not. I'll deal with it though. It beats paying $8 down at the base salon every two weeks.


Somebodies gotta give the haircuts around here, and even though I might not be the best at it, and I might not be dressed up all cute like the girls with their cosmetology degrees, that loving somebody with the scissors and clippers in hand, will always be me.

Goodbye Goldilocks

Sometimes things just don't go as planned, do they? Sometimes you have to put down whatever it is that you're working on, grab a pair of scissors, and hack off your daughters hair.

I don't know what it was exactly that triggered my madness, but on Friday, I couldn't stand to comb even one more strand of tangled blond hair. When Eleanore answered "YEAH!" to "do you want to get a haircut?", that was it- I grabbed the scissors and went for it. I pulled her hair into a purple pony holder, told her to hold real still, and jaggedly cut off 6 or more inches of her beautiful hair.

My heart sank to my feet when I was finished. I had been holding onto her gorgeous hair for so long now, as if it were a symbol of her baby years. When she was around 18 months old and her hair really started growing in, I would daydream about the day that it would grow long enough to pull into french braids. That day came and went, and I loved it. The longer her hair got, the longer I wanted it to get. It was gorgeous. Unfortunately, the longer it got, the thicker it got, the more tangled it got, the more she cried when I brushed it-

Goodbye Goldilocks.