She'd been at it again - cutting the kid's hair. This time she'd removed my son's fringe but left ample length near his crown.
When I saw him I thought, "That's nice, if you're into Dr Seuss or the Addams family."
Running my hand through his hair to make sure it was as bad as I feared I had the feeling our public image might not survive this pregnancy if this was a sign of things to come. Any day I might come home to find Miss7 sporting a half a Mohawk or Miss4 with a bald runway down the middle of her head, all in the name of baby-brain fashion.
Next I had to work out how to approach my wife about Master6's new do. I've always found the direct approach works best.
"So...honey...you had some free time today?.......you look beautiful, by the way.....nice work on the fringe. Hey, on a different topic, those glasses of yours are pretty old. Would you like a new pair?"
Several curt sentences later we'd gotten to the bottom of it and it turns out the whole Horrible Who Haircut was my fault. When Tracey went to grab the clippers they weren't where she'd left them because I'd packed them away in an all new, she'll never think of looking here, spot.
So dumb things are happening around here and I'm to blame - everything is a-o-k and running as normal. Time for a beer.