Twenty Years Younger

My sweetie has been stressing over the fact that twelve kids are starting to turn his hair a little gray. He had even gone so far as to suggest maybe getting one of those men’s coloring kits that takes out all the gray. I’ve teased that maybe he should try that guy on TV’s idea…you know the one…it looks like a can of black spray paint and he sprays the back of his head so it looks like he has hair? 

So on Sunday morning my sweetie asked me to cut his hair and give him a new look. As I started snipping away, I noticed that the more I cut, the more the gray disappeared. After consulting together, we decided to take it short and add bangs. Now we’ve been married for almost 28 years and with his curly hair, he has never worn bangs. But I have to tell you his new look took off 20 years! 

We cleaned up and headed off to church. Baby Doll was asleep when we arrived so we uncharacteristically carried her into the building in her car seat. My sweetie likes the back row in the corner, as far away from the pulpit as possible (I think he is secretly worried that someone might call him out of the audience to speak…). As much as I’d like to sit by him, there are always at least 8 kids sitting between us. For some reason, known only to himself, the Dog Walker set the baby down by my sweetie and I ended up on the "boy end" of the row. 

After the first speaker, Curly climbed onto my lap. We snuggled for a bit, but he was restless so I started whispering in his ear. "What color is my hair?" I asked. He looked back at me and pulled a strand through his fingers. "Brown," he whispered. "What color is Scout’s hair?" She was lying on the floor in front of us, coloring a picture. "Brown," whispered Curly again. I slid my fingers through his blond curls. "What color is your hair?" I asked. "Pretty!" he said immediately. "That’s not a color," I whispered. "What color is Burrito’s hair?" I asked. "Black," he said. This kid really knows his colors! 

"What color is Dad’s hair?" I asked. He peered all the way down the row, leaning forward so far he almost fell off my lap. Then he looked at me and didn’t answer. I tried again, "What color is the Dog Walker’s hair?" He took a peek. "Brown," he said. Smart boy! "What color is your hair?" I asked again. This time he said, "Curly." "Silly, it’s white," I whispered back. "What about Princess?" I asked. He thought for a minute. "It looks like Tangled," he said. (I presume he meant the movie, not that she needed to go out in the hall and comb her hair.) I tried one more time, "What color is Dad’s hair?" He snuggled back against my shoulder and let out a sigh as if I were just plain annoying. "Brown…" he finally answered. See Sweetie, the haircut worked!