Hot Chocolate

We go through this every six weeks. Eric needs a haircut. I tell him to go spend $12 because I am not doing it. Instead he borrows Matthew's hair cutting kit. And then he proceeds to whine until I cut his hair. Today I flatly refused to help him. And he did it by himself. Except he needed me to finish up the edges in the back. Which I was okay with, because I can do that.

I did a little fixing up here and there. And then sent him on his merry way to the shower. But he came back to me saying that something was wrong. "This is too long right here and here. Use this shortest one and fix it," he said. "I don't know what you're talking about," I said. "Just use this one here and here." So, I did. But only on the first "here." Because as soon as I did it, I realized it was way not the one I should be using, and now he has a nearly-balled spot on his neck.

The thing is, it is very nerve-wracking for me to cut his hair. It never looks good when I cut it. And I hate doing it. And YET! He has gotten me to cut his hair countless times. But, no more. I will not do it anymore. He looks like an nerd, and I have to be married to the guy who very clearly cuts his own hair.

It's so worth the $12 it would cost for him to get a trained person to do it.

And this is where my title comes into play. Eric's mum sent us a care package with lots and lots and lots of hot chocolate. And frankly, the hot chocolate is the only remedy for the stress I feel right now!