Splitting hairs

The time had arrived once more where Zachary's hair was getting unweildly and tangled, so this afternoon we hiked over to the salon with the fun truck-shaped barber chair. Alas, our streak of pseudo-happy haircuts ends at two; his reception was more like how Meh had described some of his early haircuts, with unhappiness, standing up in his seat, and lots of "all done". In the end, he ended up sitting on my lap for the cut, with me trying to stay out of the way of the scissors and clippers, and with each of us wearing a smock and yet still somehow getting hair everywhere. Still, you can't argue with the results; he's got a smart new little haircut now, and I've got yet another excuse to throw out my old wool jacket -- the stylist was very nice and lint-rolled it for a good five minutes, but I'm not sure if she was grabbing more lint or just pilly wool bits.