Haircut

Sometimes mommas randomly fall a little more in love with their children.

It's happened before for me.
Okay it happens quite abit...

And it did again yesterday.

The middle man was lookin' a bit scrappy recently.

I knew he was.

And it was on my to-do list.

Really, it was.

It only took a few caring individuals to bring me to that place of realization

that it was truly time.

My hairdresser's offhand comment, "Hey, whenever he's ready to come in for a haircut, let me know!" 

Followed by a friend's soft locks tossle and sweet voice, "Oh, I love his constant state of bedhead." 

Followed by my dear sister's solemn intervention talk with me, "Allison, you need to cut his hair."

Followed by the suggestion, request and finally the final word from the hubs,

"I'm tired of my son looking like a hippie."

Until we finally got him in for the chop...

It's funny the things you notice when you can finally see your child's eyes, forehead,

okay,

who are we kidding,

It's funny what you notice when you can finally see your child's face.

And it's a pretty good lookin' face.

But it's funny,

I didn't even know he had that scratch across his head

probably from some tussle with someone, something, 

a wall perhaps.

Who knows.

It could have been the toy (Ellie reported it was the "Narwal" from the plastic zoo set we gave them for Christmas.) he managed to wedge and lodge in his mouth while trying to impress the ladies at our playdate this week. 

No kidding. 

Jammed it in there, shook his head around hoping for a giggle

and then freaked at the trauma of realizing he couldn't get it out.

That's my boy.

Or, 

rather,

that's my husband's boy.

Child,

you're wholly wild and wonderful,

completely creative and courageous,

equally energentic and empathetic

I think we'll keep ya.