As you can see from the last post Ira's hair was getting out of control. As hard as it was for me to admit it, it was time for a haircut. We decided on a place in the city called Snippity Crickits. The name was cute, the neighborhood was cuter, but the inside was scary. We sat Ira down on the baby chair and after a few snips the 'stylist' declared she was done. Ira's hair looked the same; still long. After we somehow communicated that Ira was in fact a boy she plopped Ira on my lap, put a cape on both of us and finished the cut. Ira forgot all the trauma thanks to his first dum dum sucker.
