Baby boys and cutting hair

Shuggle = shovel
Grey-shush = gracious
Daleeb = believe

Outside on the patio, Jack threw his ball high in the air, and it landed on our shed. Jack's immediate response was, "Oh my grey-shush, I can not daleeb it! My ball is up on that roof! Mama, just use the shuggle to get it down."

I don't want to forget the way he pronounces things. It just reminds me that he's still a baby, and I love that.

As I was cutting the boys' hair tonight, time sort-of went in slow motion as I took in the gift of my boys. To be spreading out a towel under a stool for Jack, like Mrs. Rita showed me when I was 18. And putting Charlie in the sink. Using her three-fingers'-width technique, cutting all those little hairs. The ones that make them squirm because they tickle their skin. And then sending their naked selves to the shower to wash away the clippings. Both of them pressing their noses into the glass of the shower, making blowfish faces and laughing until they stumble. Snuggling up close as I dry them off and shaking the goosebumps off as I run the hair dryer over those fresh noggins. These moments are so priceless because they're ours.

The boys are asleep now, and tonight is a sweet memory. I'm so grateful for that slow motion, the chance to let myself take it all in. And for the reminder of the woman who showed me how she cut her boy's hair. She is precious. 11 years later, I think of that night, of her, every time my boys need a trim.