You know how cowboys will jump off their horses and grab errant calves by the horns and bring them down and turn them over and tie their legs up? That’s how I cut my kids’ toenails.

They sit on the divan in my bathroom and I sit on the floor in front of them facing away, and I wedge a leg under my arm and hang on for dear life as they kick and buck and just generally claim that I’m tickling them while I wave what amounts to a knife around. Ha ha! Fun! And if you end up maimed, well maybe next time you’ll sit still.

But recently, instead of leaving heel-shaped dents in my back with their free foot, they’ve found a new way to try to keep me from providing basic hygiene. Looking up and over my shoulder, I had this conversation with Tom:

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you going blonde?”

“Blonde?”

“On the top of your head, in back. Like Lex Luthor.”

“Ah. You mean ‘bald.’”

“Bald!” he says, and laughs.

So I tightened my grip on his leg and tickle away.