Father’s Day (Part 1) & Hurrcuts

Before I dive into the intricacies of infant haircuts (I bet a ton of people just clicked on to bigger and brighter things):

1. My spiritual gift is not giving awesome presents. That said, I gave Taylor an awesome present yesterday:

So cheap, so cute. The letters were like $3 each at Michaels. Or maybe Hobby Lobby. Or possibly Jo-Anns. For sure one of those crafty places.
We had a mini photoshoot in the front yard this morning, I printed the pictures, framed them together, and presented it immediately to Taylor. There was no way I could wait until Sunday to give it to him.

2. Have you seen this proposal video yet? It’s a little long if your attention span for online videos is comparable to mine, but totally worth it.

3. Did you watch the Hatfields & McCoys mini series on the History channel? You should. I’m still in mourning over a few of the deaths.


Last week I took the Beck to get his hairs cut. Some people panic about the first haircut. I was just ready for his almost-mullet to be tamed.

When I walked in the salon, I felt really good about my decision. It’s a trendy little salon for kids with severely overpriced services. In addition to the multiple TVs playing cartoons and the fire truck and convertible barber chairs, there was a young, cute stylist cutting a little girl’s hair, a toy chest full of post-cut prizes for the kids at the front of the store, and a jar of dum dums by the cash register. Awesome, right?

I wrote my name down on the waiting list and watched the front desk chick go in the back to get another hairdresser. Out of the back room, walked Beckett’s hairdresser the year 1994. 

It’s not that I’m a horribly shallow person. It’s not even that I have something against still wearing 90’s clothes. It’s just that I hold my hair stylist to a higher standard of fashion. Is that so wrong? I want her to tell me if my idea of a cute style is horribly outdated. I expect her to be somewhat up with the times. (I also get that it doesn’t take a ton of fashion expertise to snip 7 infant hairs, but still…)

When I saw our stylist in velcro tennis shoes, mom jeans, a button down oxford, and frizzy hair done half-up with a ribbon bow coming for my firstborn child’s head, I started getting sweaty. My emotional attachment to his hair grew infinitely.

Before I could back out, she’d already wet B’s hair and started snipping like she was going for a world record in fastest haircut ever. The whole thing literally took 4 minutes.

I could tell the babe was a little bit unsure what was going on. His strong-man facade slowly started to crumble when she pulled out the electric clippers. It was just too much and he couldn’t keep it together.

We were on the brink of a meltdown:

Then she finished and we were done.

I ordered the “first haircut” package that included a picture in the fire engine and a lock of hair. Taylor could not be more horrified by my decision to save some hair. I think it’s a little creepy too, but the peer pressure to be an overly sentimental mom enveloped me.

I think I’ll have to draw the line at keeping his first teeth. (And certainly keeping umbilical cords. Seriously? People do that crap.)

The first haircut picture was a little harder to get. The chick took about 245 pictures. Stoneface Brooks made it difficult to get a good one, so this is what we ended up with: the one where he looks high as a kite.

First haircut down. He looks like a little boy now. To the hairdresser: job well done. I’m sorry I judged you by your pinwheel bow.

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