Cut it like Beckham.

Up until about five months ago, I was the only one who had ever cut Number 6’s hair.

I finally broke down this summer and took him and Number 3 to an old school barber.

He loved it.

But no matter how short I told the woman to cut his hair, she just wouldn’t do it.

And even though I told her I wanted it to look just like Number 3’s, he still ended up with a semi-bowl cut.

The second time Number 6 got his hair cut my husband took him, along with Number 2 and Number 3.

This time they went to one of those Great Clips kind of places where it costs about 14 cents for a cut.

I gave my husband instructions, which were basically to get the exact same cut for each of them.

The same woman cut all three boys’ hair.

And they came home with three completely different looking hair cuts.

And Number 6 had the worst haircut I have ever seen.

It was so embarrassing that I couldn’t even take a picture, and I immediately broke the scissors out and fixed it myself.

So tonight, when my husband took Number 2, 3, and 6 to the mall, he was a little nervous.

He texted me.

I tried to be as clear

as possible.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when they came home.

The camera on my husband’s phone is broken, so he couldn’t send a picture.

I’d just have to wait.

They got home about an hour later.

And not a trace of Lloyd Christmas was anywhere to be found.

       

Phew.

From now on, I guess we’ll get our haircuts at the mall.