a hair cut

Carter's mullet was in desperate need of reshaping. We haven't had the greatest luck with his past hair cuts; the whisps of hair falling to the floor were damp with tears and nervous sweat. This time we tried one of those special kid cuttery places - they have toy cars to sit in and cartoons for distraction during the cut. But the woman at the front desk sneered at us like we had a kid with three heads (all with mullets) and told us we needed an appointment.

I reluctantly made an appointment for the next day, and we loaded ourselves (camera gear, snacks, juice & all) back into the car to go get Daddy a hair cut instead.

We sat in the front of the barbershop, waiting. I couldn't take the length of his hair for two more seconds.

Against all shouldhavelearnedbynow instincts, into the hair chair he went. And who would have thought? A magnadoodle calmed his nerves.

A new Carter hit the town.

We hit up the water ice shop for a rootbeer float, then we rolled into the grocery store to get some tuna steaks for dinner.

We got home and played outside before naptime.

In the yard, he met the little girl next door. My guess is going out to play at the same time wasn't coincidental. The whole neighborhood was probably peeking through their blinds at my handsome bumble's hair cut.

She was totally checking out his diapered butt.

(me + my camera = the mother-in-law you'll never want)

(thanks for your votes!)