a trip to the haircut store

When we were little, and we needed a haircut, my brothers and sisters and I didn't go to a salon or a barbershop. We went to the "haircut store." Sure, in reality it was just a family salon, but it was also a store where we went to buy a haircut, so the term "haircut store," which was born in our childhood brains, made perfect sense to us. I have yet to learn how to cut my boys' hair, and I also apparently have a hard time calling a salon a salon, so when they need a trim, I take them down the street to the haircut store.

Because I've always loved Caleb's hair, I put off his much-needed first trim for as long as I could. But this morning I gave in. This morning we took a walk down to the haircut store.

Most of you can probably recall his untamed wild mane without the help of a photo, but here's a "before" shot just the same.


Caleb did not seemed phased by the fact that someone was snipping away at his golden locks. In fact, for the most part, he seemed to really enjoy himself. Once he got over the sound it made, he was especially fascinated with the razor as it ran behind his ears and along the back of his neck.

(Garrett enjoyed driving the car.)

And here's my sharp looking boy sporting his very first haircut. If his hair continues to grow as fast and as wildly as it did during his first nine months, I imagine we'll be visiting the haircut store a little more frequently.


Special thanks to my dad (hi, Dad!), who not only came to Brooklyn just to see us, but also photographed the haircutting.