Haircuts

When it comes to haircuts, we are spoiled. Our Mamaw is both skilled and cheap, and lately we have been within range of her shears and clippers every two months, or sooner. So I let my boys grow out long and shaggy until she can take care of business in her kitchen or on her porch. In my book, there's not too much in the world that beats sitting still for a minute to let your grandma play with your hair.

But in the last month, I would swear that something has entered the water. Suddenly both kids are eating three of everything in sight, even Isaac. Those 5T shirts are looking less billowy on him now. Jacob is a solid 3T, with his feet outpacing him -- he shot up a shoe size, like, overnight, and is just barely a size behind Isaac. Hey Grandmas! We need new church shoes STAT, in a 9 and a 10.

The growth unfortunately passed onto their hair, and with no trip to Indy in sight (siiiiiigh), I took the boys to our back-up, a kids' hair cuttery. Kids' TV and suckers are a poor substitute for grandma fingers in my mind, but the kids didn't complain to loudly.

Witness the hippie-esque state of the BEFORE picture. Jake's bangs, when wet, would hang into his eyes.





And out of the shop, $30 dollars poorer and several grams of sugar richer, these dapper gentleman emerged, though it was harder to get them to pose. I blame the sugar.