The Vanquishing of the Hair

This was the week of the haircut.

Finally, the Man and I agreed that Bruiser's hair had crossed the line: we either said goodbye forever to his eyes and ears (and neck) or headed into man bun territory...or did the dreaded choppy chop. Bruiser was adamantly against a trim of any kind, but grudgingly agreed to allow me the use of my scissors (but no clippers!). He did not, however, agree to sit still, so he ended up looking a good deal like Lloyd Christmas from Dumb and Dumber.

Pre-haircut dream boat. And sister.

It was late, and I gave up and put him in bed, assuring myself that it would look better in the morning. But when we couldn't get through breakfast without bursting into peals of hysterical laughter, we pulled out the clippers.

Bruiser was dismayed, but he rallied when he realized that the clippers sounded like a bumblebee. Bumblebees are fun (until they sting you). Unfortunately, even bumblebees couldn't stop him from getting his hair tugged accidentally. Then: meltdown. You don't need to know anything other than our next door neighbor stuck her head out to make sure no one was dying.

At any rate, it feels like we have an all new kid. In fact, I did a double take when I picked him up from child care after church because, seriously, I barely recognize him without his formerly flowing locks.

Naturally, this has made me think of Samson...which puts the Man and me in the position of Delilah? Sadly, we do not seem to have stolen the strength of Bruiser's vocal cords, which still produce ear splittingly awful shrieks for a whole array of moods.

Thinking about Samson, however, reminded me of my favorite Bible story, which I have been asked to divulge.  I'm not going to write about it now because I just told you that fabulous story about Bruiser's haircut, and I don't want to overwhelm you with awesome.

Instead, I'll leave you with a fantastic picture of Mohawk Tiny and wish you a happy Monday with many less traumatic haircuts to come!