At the risk of sounding like one of those fluttery, domineering mothers who would dress her precious baby boy in sailor suits and knee-highs if they were still readily available, I have to admit--I prefer Boy's towhead impishly long and tousled. I'd keep it that way forever, if only he'd let me. Precious baby boys, however, have a selfish habit of growing rather relentlessly up. And mine has recently been nagging me for a "real" haircut, a "big boy" haircut, one performed by someone with a "degree" or whatever. Pfft! Such insufferable vainity! And in a six year old no less! Where will it end?
Nevertheless, being the selfless loving mother that I am, I took him yesterday, and got him his obscenely overpriced, professional haircut.
On the way out of the parking lot, for some reason (I forget what) I hit the breaks hard enough to jar everyone forward and back pretty roughly. Boy growled from the backseat, "Careful mom! You're messin' up my spikes!"