Tales of the Stolte Hair Massacre

The good news is, I have quite a few great photos to tell today's story.

It could be this one, but that would only tell half the story. It would only tell of a little boy who decided that "he felt like" using his sister's scissors to cut his hair. It would only tell of a little boy who is a bit impulsive and doesn't really think about the consequences of his decisions. And it would only tell of a little boy who was really, really upset with what was coming.

Or I could choose this photo. Again, this one only tells a part of the story. It doesn't tell how we had to pin Ephraim down to get those beautiful blonde locks off his head. It doesn't tell how much I cried having to shave that little head. And it doesn't tell how difficult it was for Ephraim to see his hair falling off his head in droves.

Or there is this one. Yes, it shows what we had to do to get his hair looking decent again. And yes, it shows how little his head really is. (And yes, it also shows that there is a reason why I pay good money for the professionals to cut my children's hair).

But I think this is the photo that wins the prize. He had calmed down enough after I finished shaving his head to be able to stand and breathe on his own again until he looked in the mirror. Then, the crying and wailing and gnashing of teeth started up again. I'm pretty sure Ephraim will never, ever attempt to cut his own hair again.

The two of us bawling on the bathroom floor was not a pretty sight. But, like I said, the good news is I have options for today's photo.