This morning, I injured myself doing Genevieve's hair. Lame, I know. I hold the little tiny rubber bands in my teeth while I get the hair all combed, and then use one hand to hold the hair, and then a combination of other hand/teeth to stretch out the rubber band to magically get it on the tiny ponytail. (oh, and all of this while Gen pretends to be a hurricane). Anyway, in the "holding rubber band with teeth while stretching it" stage I predictably popped myself in the lip with the rubber band. I think I'll live, but I have an impressive welp.
At a Sunday school party this weekend, Robert and our teacher were discussing the utter impossibility of fixing a little girl's hair, when suddenly Robert realized something that made him feel much better about not being able to do Gen's hair as well as he's like to:
"But Rich, you're a brain surgeon!"
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