The Barber of Civil Disobedience

Olivia has accompanied me on my last several trips to the barbershop. Fortunately, my barber keeps a candy stash by the cash register, its contents perfect for keeping my active child occupied for the ten or so minutes it takes for me to get a trim (all of which I’ll admit is completely hypocritical because we’re pulling Olivia from her current preschool because of, at least in part, their practice of candy bribes).

The first time she came along she sat and observed quietly from a seat by the bay window. On the last two occasions though, she’s protested the prospect of watching from afar by staging a sit-in (more like a sprawl-across) on the floor, relenting only when I scoop her up and let her sit on my lap while I’m in the barber chair.