This week, the first week of our summer vacation, we finally trimmed those precious, unruly, angel-demon locks of hair. We’ve been talking about it for months, telling Finn how much easier his hair would be to comb, showing him online photos of the colorful, balloon-filled kids’ salon with elephant trunk-faucets. Still, our first attempt did not go well. He was agreeable the night before, but resistant on the ride over:
Then, once in front of the establishment, he refused to even go inside. As it turned out, there wasn’t much room inside, anyway: the place was packed with people and there was a two-hour wait. So we walked around the mall and showed Finn the cookie-shop he would be able to pick a treat from to celebrate the cut after our next visit.
Then we went to the beach and let his still-long hair blow in the salty breeze:
A few days later, we were among the first at the mall and the second in line at the salon. Finn checked the place out very carefully and watched with interest as another boy received a quick and painless haircut:
While waiting, they sat him down in front of Mickey Mouse and I took pictures of my little man with his baby hair:
I think I was a bit more nervous than Finn; my shaking hands seem to have blurred nearly every photo. I tried to capture the way his brow furrowed when the stylist sprayed and combed his hair out…
…and I snapped a final shot of Finn’s baby hair, which, when wet and combed out, reached quite a ways down his back:
Then the stylist snipped away,
…which wasn’t as bad an experience as expected:
Afterward, Finn inspected his new look,
…and we all agreed that we liked it.
A little neater, and looking a little closer to four, but still very much Finn.