Aging Gracefully

Cormac and Arden are getting older, and there is nothing that I—or you, Grandmas—can do about it. Arden got his first haircut yesterday—granted: it was necessary for an unobstructed view of the world (or at least of the world’s shoes and table legs), it was just a few snips in the front, Mom was the barber, and he now looks like the deranged lovechild of Lloyd Christmas and a cartoon housecat—and it’s hard to come to grips with the fact that he’s now entered the phase of his life in which he isn’t just occasionally, and superficially, modified; he has been permanently and irreparably changed.

Luckily for us, two babies came out of Kerry some nine months ago, and Cormac still has all of his original hairs intact. And yes, those hairs have come together to form a style that would look more at home on an Ole Miss frat-boy or a decaying Confederate general than it does on a baby boy, but I’m just glad they’re all still there.