“Wow. Your hair is getting really shaggy. You need a haircut.”
displeased, moaning noises
“Wow. You are starting to look like Justin Bieber, and not in a good way. You need a haircut.”
distressed, moaning noises
“Mom, can you cut my hair?”
“Me too!” (from the one making the distressed moaning noises)
“Report to the driveway with no shirt and just your boxers. I’ll be right there with the buzzers.”
Yes, it’s *that* kind of barbershop.
“Can I have a mohawk?”
“REALLY? I can have a MOHAWK?”
Negotiations are opened regarding length and duration of mohawk. It is further agreed it will be removed upon our departure for the annual vacation/Christmas card photo session.
“Hey! I’m getting a MOHAWK!”
taunting noises aimed at older brother
“Me too! Wait, can I be BALD?”
“That’s what I really wanted, but I didn’t think you’d let me.”
Mother of the Year.
Please note the unusual spelling of my first name.