Cutting Hair

I was reading some of my favorite blogs the other day, when I noticed Rob of Rob in His Bunker had written about home haircuts.  I was reminded of the one and only time I gave my boys haircuts.  At the time we lived about 20 miles from the closest town.  When you are pinching pennies, you don't drive a 40 mile round trip just for a haircut.  And in the winter, it was a toss up as to whether the road past our house would be drifted in or not.  So home haircuts seemed like a good idea.

My mother cut my hair the whole time I was growing up.  She cut my sister's hair.  She cut my aunt's hair.  She cut the neighbor's hair.  She didn't have a clipper.  She used a scissors.  How hard can it be, I thought.

So I set my boys on chairs out in the yard.  Tied those big white flour sack dishtowels around their necks to keep hair clippings from falling down inside their shirts.  And I proceeded to cut.

Well, that didn't look quite right, so I cut some more.

That side was just a tiny bit longer than the other side, so I cut some more.

Maybe if I take a little more off the back it will be OK.

When I finally admitted defeat, both boys looked like a weed whacker had been at their heads.

I loaded them into the car, drove the 40 mile round trip and got them professional haircuts.

It was worth every penny.