Yes. We can call this post The Big Change.
We can also call it That Time I Clogged Up Your Hard Drive With All The Snapshots.
Thing 2 is looking a little different this weekend, and by a little different, I mean, “Whoa, Gladys! Look how handsome he is!”
(Not that he wasn’t handsome before, because he was. I don’t think I’ve minced my words when I’ve spent all the days telling you that my boys are the cutest children on this continent.)
(And I know that Jesus doesn’t appreciate a bragger, but I don’t think it’s bragging when you’re just stating a word of truth.)
Thing 2 has had some monstrous curls, and I have loved them. But lately, those curls had been taking on more of a dreadlock formation, as they gave me grief with their vocabulary words of SNARLED and TANGLED and TWISTED and WE SURE USE A BOTTLE OF CONDITIONER QUICKLY AROUND HERE THESE DAYS. My goal was to grow them long, because DON’T TELL ME THAT LONG CURLS ON A LITTLE BOY WOULDN’T BE ADORABLE. I was on a mission to achieve a surfer look with our toddler, with a shaggy, beach mane of windblown curls.
But then genetics didn’t cooperate with me, because that boy’s DNA decided to play a game called LET’S JUST SHOW HER THAT SHE’LL NEVER GET A COMB THROUGH THESE THINGS AGAIN and HELLO, BOB MARLEY.
So… I had to give in. I had to call our stylist and say, “Book the little man an appointment for something more than just a trim. And do it quickly, before I change my mind and decide that dreadlocks will look really, REALLY hip and keep them, because MY WORD! I don’t want to cut these off.”
THE BEFORE PICTURES
Now… this is not how Thing 2’s hair normally looked, but sometimes… in the mornings before he showered… Hubs would grab a hair pick and go to town on that mane. The result always made our toddler look like he was a member of the Harlem Globetrotters.
(Also? Well, that’s the food dye of an orange M&M dripping down his chin, because Thing 2 had just done his morning business on the big boy potty, which earns him a candy reward.)
…until they just got TOO LONG to be tamed, and they decided to let their wild nature flourish with abandon.
Never has a shirt been more appropriate for a child. It TOTALLY fit.
(And yes. I just used the word TOTALLY like it was 1987 again. Bless my heart.)
Then, on Friday afternoon, we walked into our friend Lisa’s salon. Lisa has cut all of our hair since the very olden days of WE DON’T EVEN HAVE CHILDREN YET. If you’re doing the math, and you know that the boy is fourteen… well… that comes out to a few appointments that we’ve had in Lisa’s twirly chair.
We gave Thing 2 a bright red sucker, because we like to reward him with the food dyes that good mothers avoid at all costs. Did you go potty on the toilet? Yay!! Here’s some orange dye! Did you sit nicely for a haircut? Whoop!! Whoop!! Have some bright red food dye!”
… and then she told ME that I needed to be a big girl and let her do her work with the clippers, without ME crying.
THE AFTER PICTURES
I’m happy to report that both the toddler and his mama sat nicely, and nobody cried.
When Lisa stepped back to proclaim that her magic-working was over, we had THIS:
I didn’t know that it was possible for Thing 2 to be even cuter, but we’ve proved otherwise. This haircut makes me SO HAPPY.
We expect Ralph Lauren to be calling any moment now to ask if our toddler would be interested in modeling some shirts with polo ponies on them.
(Speaking of Ralph, when the boy was six, he once asked me, “Hey, Mom? Why do most of my shirts have this dumb guy, who’s holding a big stick and riding a horse, on them?” That was the day that I wrote him out of our will.)
Anyway, that’s going to do it for tonight, y’all.
Merry Sunday. It’s kind of like a holiday for us, because NO SCHOOL TOMORROW!! We’re on our day-long Fall Break, while our Colorado counterparts celebrate their week-long Fall Break from school… those lucky dogs who like to text us and RUB. IT. IN.