BUBTA, my long-haired hippie teen who, for the past several years, would rather have died than allow anyone to touch his locks with scissors, announced Sunday afternoon that he was going to let his friend Sam cut all of his (Bubta’s) hair off. He had been talking about the possibility of doing it on the last day of school, but Sam offered, and as long as it isn’t Mom’s idea, it sounds awesome.
We took the clippers out to the patio, recruited a neighbor to record the Momentus Occasion, and Sam commenced to clipping. Soon enough, Bubta was sporting a sweet #1:
“Look at you!” I cried. “You have a pretty face! I mean HANDSOME, a handsome face! And your daddy’s eyebrows!”
Amidst the drama on the patio, the Peezer slipped away and was unsupervised for just long enough to hack big, patchy bald spots all over the front of his hair. Super! I grabbed the clippers and fixed it, undoing the professional haircut he’d gotten two weeks before. But oh well, it’s only hair, right? It’ll grow. The bald spots will fill in soon enough:
Of course we asked The Boss if he was next. “NO WAY!” he exclaimed. Boss is like Samson: Very proud of his blond curls. He gets excited for summer each year because he knows his hair will lighten. His bangs are down to his lovely blue eyes, but they don’t quite cover the cute freckles that are emerging on his nose. I’ll have a photo of him in a couple of weeks, after his 5th grade promotion ceremony.