My Mane Man.

Simon's hair is by far his most distinguishing physical feature.  Strangers comment on its color frequently, one even took the time to explain to me the accurate history of the commonly used "towhead".  I'll spare you the details of his diatribe, but rest assured I am indeed spelling it correctly, it has nothing to do with toes.  His wispy locks follow behind his mischief making like a shadow.  The fact that we haven't had it cut yet isn't a statement of protest, it just hasn't happened.  None of us get coifed on a regular basis, in fact both Greta and I usually get trimmed in the kitchen by Adam, and really only when it becomes absolutely necessary.  Lately more and more passersby in our daily travels have mistaken Simon for a girl, sometimes I correct them, and sometimes I let it go.  It doesn't bother me, but it does remind me that someday (probably sooner than later) he will have his first haircut, and take one more step away from babyhood and into boyhood.  For now, with his adventurous personality and zeal for life, his hair is his perfect accessory!