I don't really have a point or purpose today

but I just really wanted to write a post. It's been too long. Let's see... JD is smarter, funnier, cuter, fun-er than ever. (Not surprising to those who know him, though.) We've finally decided that he does in fact need a haircut.

(It's past his shoulders, you know. The jack-ass who checks us out at the Safeway, who damn well knows that JD is in fact a boy, bc/ we get in his line every week --it's the only non-express that's open at 9am on a Monday-- and every week, he says, all fricking jovial-"I-hate-my-job-so-much-that-I-am-going-to-kill-you-all-with-arsenic-laced-kindness-and passive-aggressive-small-talk"-like, "And what a beautiful little girl!" And then I smile all fricking jovial-"You-are-a-pompous-douche-bag-who-may-think-your-Master's-in-American-History-with-a-Concentration-in-Post-Civil-War-Reconstruction-is-being-wasted-at-this-job-but-that-doesn't-change-the-fact-that-you-are-working-in-a-service-industry"-like and say, "Oh, he's a boy, he's just so beautiful that you might think he's a girl!" Every. Week. Same time, same place, same lines. Stuff it, you moron.)

Anyway, JD does in fact need a haircut. And, the need for a haircut has been exacerbated in recent days by my innocent attempt to "trim his bangs" out of his eyes, which resulted in a most unfortunate mullet. Yikes. So I've been talking about this haircut, talking a great game in fact, but I juuuuust can't quite bring myself to put my money where my mouth is and man up to actually get him this haircut. He's going to look so different. He's going to look so grown up. He's going to look like...a little boy. ::sniff, sniff, sob:: So now I'm saying that I am waiting till we get back from St. Maarten's in a couple weeks. I'm also saying that I'm going to get his hair braided while we're down there, and I take special delight in the horrified wide-eyes I get from my friends and family in the "Damn-that-kid-needs-a-haircut" camp. I figure it's the last time I'll be the one agitating other people with my son's hair; he'll be agitating me with it soon enough, right?

In closing (bc/ he is about to forcibly eject himself from his crib if I don't get in there soon and let him out), I just thought of a title for this post: "Fear The Mullet" It's a little shout-out to all my old friends at the last school I taught at, and if you're at all familiar w/ the Baltimore boys' prep school scene, you'll get it. And if not, it's still pretty apropos.