O is so proud of the haircut he gave himself yesterday. What kind of a mother would let her son walk around with scissors? Uh, yeah -- me. To be fair, he's really quite responsible with scissors most of the time. It's just the fluke day here or there that he decides things need a trim. We've had to discard a few t-shirts that he ventilated back in the summertime. I thought he was over his snippy little habit, but I guess not! Maybe his head simply felt too hot. It happens a lot with dark hair, just attracting all that sunlight up there. When I told him we'd have to buzz his head, he shrieked, "No! Don't cut it all! I want it to look good!" Yes, Son, so do I. Today I did the honors, and he looks pretty good. Even he, master stylist that he is, acknowledged that I did an okay job.
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