To What Will I Go Home?

We were in the car yesterday. My plan for today is to be gone for almost 12 hours in order to plan our year of homeschooling. Joel turned to me and said, "You know what I think I'll get tomorrow? A razor." 

"For you?" I ask.

"No, the kind of razor that Vern uses on the boys."

Vern is a gentle, experienced barber whom I have considered worth $45 every 10 weeks to turn my puffy, shaggy boys back into little men. 

Joel is a gentle, inexperienced barber who does not consider our boys' hair to ever be worth $45. 

"Do you know what you're doing?" I ask. 

"I've spent the last several years watching him. It can't be that tough," says Joel with a vision.

So, I relent. I put in my little "two cents" about the number of blade I remember Vern using and some advice about leaving their hair a little longer on the top. 

The last time we did something like this, we had our cats shaved. We were tired of their long hair, we had just had a baby, the cats fell victim to my nesting instincts. The outcome of having one's cats shaved is threefold: debilitating laughter, cats who hide, and cats who do not recognize each other (despite having been together for 3 years). I'm wondering if there will be any carryover to the boys.