Fodder for Memoirs

A. and I joke a lot that we provide a lot of fodder for our children's memoirs. You know the kind of memoirs written especially by sons? All about how as children they were, I don't know, forced to watch lamb tails get whacked off or were traumatized by the sight of a gutted doe hanging in front of the house every November.

It's a joke only because Cubby is so far showing nothing but relish for this admittedly odd life we live. Charlie, however, is still a question mark. He might write his memoirs one day, blaming his parents for everything that's wrong in his life. 

And if he does, his first haircut will surely be related as an example of how unfair life is for the second child.

Cubby's first haircut occurred at an actual salon. Cubby sat on Daddy's lap and got the tiny cape with the brightly-colored tree frogs all over it. The event was duly recorded for posterity via my camera.

There is no picture of Charlie's first haircut, because I did it myself while he was taking a bath.

I noticed when he was in his bath one night that when his curls were wet, the back of his hair was essentially to his shoulders. So I grabbed the scissors A. uses to trim his beard and shortened Charlie's hair up a little bit. I don't dig long hair on males of any age.

Since it was the very first haircut I've ever done on anyone, it was a little . . . rough. I neatened it up a little bit during his next bath, and it looks presentable now. Although it did mean the end of his curls, a fact which I think caused the MiL to tear up a little bit.

I kind of miss the curls, too, but here's how I see it: he's walking in a more or less competent fashion now. He recently completely weaned. He's ready for the big time. The big boy time, that is. So it was time for big-boy hair.

I may have failed at photos of the cutting, but I did get some afters:

So long, curls. Hello, big boy.