Being pregnant in the summer with a posterior baby means I pretty much live on this yoga ball…in front of the AC unit.
The photo op made me realize my kids need hair cuts.
I cut Levi’s hair a couple times a year. It has evolved over three years from me snipping some long ends with a mustache trimmer (cause ever house needs to own one??), to a full family event with real hair scissors, free-range of the iPad and little sister being a tiny version of Tabatha Takes Over.
It usually ends with him some Dumb and Dumber references and a keepsake akin to this:
Despite the text intervention my MIL had with me and my scissor weilding ways, I know she is right, I can’t cut hair.
Good thing Levi has delightfully low standards, after all he told me moments before this picture that my ponytail was “so boootiful”. He always knows what to say.
LJ on the other hand, girl has standards I am not meeting up to and her mean mug ain’t a poker face. She is not impressed with dinner or her bang trim.
In my defense, she does have this mullet/combover combination that only time can tame.
The fact is my kids are joining in my familial legacy of bad hair cuts. My dad thought he could cut hair too, he could not cut hair
Mom also thought she could roll a primo home perm…errrrrr…..
Hair Heritage. No mom and dad, you can’t cut hair. But you can PAY people to!