Events of today force me to interrupt the Hawaii series to report an important rite of passage for our Micah: his first hair cut.
I've been putting it off and putting it off for months now. I had a myriad of excuses:
But I love those curls!
I don't know how to cut Ethiopian hair (and surely no Chinese barber does either!).
Our clippers are broken.
But then what I just passed off as morning bedhead (which, I will admit, usually lasted the entire day because attempting to tame the mass just ended up with a crying little boy), started casting frightening shadows on the wall...
Then I started not being able to tell the difference between the shadow and his real, live hair...
I finally ran out of excuses when I heard that my friend Rachel gave her son his first hair cut with safety scissors. So I grabbed the closest pair of scissors, put on an Elmo podcast in an attempt to channel his two-year old energy, and started cutting. No strategy, no vision, no rhyme or reason...just started cutting.
I can personally attest that curly hair is very forgiving (and concealing) of chop-job haircuts, so when I was done, the boy before me was still pretty darn cute.
This face either means "What have you done to my head?" or "I'd rather be watching more Elmo than looking at you with that camera pointed in my face again." I'd also like to point out the traces of breakfast left on his chin. Because, let's be honest, when you're chasing two babies and incubating another, sometimes chins don't get wiped as they should.
Watch out, little man! You're next and that Mr. T mohawk we know & love will be no more!