One Sunday, I came home from work and a very excited sounding Patrick shouts to me from the basement "I'm down here!!!"
He darted into view and shouted "I'M GIVING MYSELF A HAIRCUT!" before running out of site again.
In that brief moment, I could tell this was not going well.
There were chunks of hair missing from all over his head.
I hung up my coat, and went to see if I could help.
There in the basement he had a wooden chair, his beard trimmer, and a tiny mirror.
This is the selfie he took while I was trying to fix his hair.
It still looked crappy. I'm no hairdresser.
