Dear Dexter,
Many, many years ago I let your Lolo cut my hair. I ended up a little girl with a crooked haircut. It was unfortunate and embarrassing. Tonight that memory left me, and your father and I took it upon ourselves to trim your bangs. And it was a freakin' disaster.
Let me just say that we've done this a few times before with a fair amount of success. You stayed still those other times and we got the job done. Apparently, we've pressed our luck one too many times though. By the time we were through with you tonight, you looked like you got in a fight with a machete. My sincerest apologies. I don't even have pictures to share because I'm not quite at the point where I can see the humor.
I suppose the lesson is this: You are nearly 2, an age where holding still is a very foreign concept. Your father is an account manager and I work at a non-profit. Neither of these professions qualify us to wield scissors around your pretty little head. It's time to outsource.
So sorry buddy,
Mama
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