My little grandson, Aidan, got his first haircut. His long, flowing, curls are very familiar. As a matter of fact, his mother had the very same ones. They were a source of a constant battle between us.
Mainly, it was because I am just not a hair person. I had to chase the poor little girl, then try to lasso that hair into some kind of shape. It did not want to cooperate. In the meantime, when I combed or brushed it, the poor child would sincerely cry. Maybe it was because she was in pain.
When she got her first haircut her oldest sister was delighted. “Does this mean she’ll lose her curls?” she asked with a hopeful look on her face.
I could hardly blame her. After all, people for some reason, go crazy happy when they see curls on a small child. So, my poor oldest daughter…
View original post 375 more words