Dear Kai and Julian,
I am sorry. Sorry I let Dad take you to the Hairy Bear and get your cute surfer-dude do's lopped off into crops that look quite a lot like Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber. (Click. It's worth the laugh.) Of course I still think you are incredibly handsome little men. (I'm your mother. That is part of my job.) But oh how I loved the fringe that fell into your eyes... the little wisps that hung over your ears.
The sweet mullets that told everyone... oh, hey... there's a party out back. But here's the thing: We let you boys play and play hard. So when there are grass stains on your shorts, dirt under your finger nails and bangs that obstruct your vision, people start wondering if you actually have parents.
Hence, the cuts.
Don't get me wrong: I don't regret the choice. It had to be done - and before we know it your shorn locks will fill out to the perfect length the way hot coffee cools to the ideal temp... it's a fleeting moment and I'll have to remember to drink it all up before it's gone. Plus, you're both pretty happy about the situation overall... what with those helium-filled balloons--pink for you, Jules (of course), orange for you, Kai--and the choking-hazard lollipops that come free with every cut.
Sleep tight, my loves. I look forward to your tousled bed heads at breakfast.
PS: I'm seriously contemplating a pixie. (That, guys, means a super-short hair cut.) I may look better with longer hair but I'm craving a big change. This super hilarious blog entry (which I ran into, perusing the web for pixie-cut images) might have tipped me into taking action. Might. Have.