Ooh Rah

Dear Hagen,

Your hair's been a little out of control lately. The Other Brooke once compared your 'do to that of Jerry Lee Lewis. Never a good sign. And then you developed this Eddie Munster situation around your bangs. Also not good. No one's ever told a barber, "Gimme some Munster in the front, with some ol' Jerry Lee in the back."

...So I decided today that I would cut your hair. And you know what it was like? It was like opening a box of Thin Mints...you eat two from one side of the tray, and then you think, "Might as well even up the rows," so you eat two from the left side of the tray... and on and on 'til, in the process of "evening things up," you're completely out of control and can no longer account for a few dozen cookies.

Not that this has ever happened to me. 

I started with the scissors, but you're such a moving target that I ended up accidentally removing a few big chunks and leaving you with some almost-bald spots. Also, I was more than a little worried that I was going to stab you in the head with the scissors. At this point, I knew things had taken a turn for the unattractive, so I called your dad at work:

Mom: Hey...do you have any objection to me cutting Hagen's hair?
Dad: Nope.
Mom: Okay. See you after work!

That way, if he came home and yelled, "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIS HAIR?!?" I could say, "What? You told me to."

After making several attempts to even things up, I finally acknowledged defeat, strapped you in your high chair so you couldn't crawl away, and buzzed your hair off with Dad's clippers. Which made you giggle. The result was drastic, but at least it's even.




Your dad came home and changed you into camouflage pants and when you started to crawl across the room, he said, "Ooh rah, soldier!" because you looked like the world's smallest Marine recruit:

I'm going to make lots of mistakes as your mother. At least this one will grow out.

Love,
Mom