Merida No More

Look what I woke up to Saturday morning: my sweet, little girl watching a movie while writing out her favorite scripture to share with a school friend, who'd earlier shared with her a favorite.  (Lil'S was quick to join her after I got him out of his crib.)  I chatted with her for a moment and took the scissors she'd been working with to put them away since Lil'S was now up.  After I turned and started to leave the room, I spotted something on the floor.  A curl of hair.  I picked it up and turned around.  

"H?"  Another curl of hair.  "Did you cut your hair?"  

"Yes."  She answered.  

Me in shock: "This is the first time you've cut your hair."

"No, remember, when I hid behind that board?"

I couldn't remember that time,
but I figured she must've been pretty small.

  

Upon closer examination, I learned the extent of this additional activity H had been up to while S and I were still in bed.

zoned in front of the tv

Oh, dear.

Not even the Romans appreciated Mullets.  

Or, maybe I should say Nero did, but his biographer did not.  

I side with his biographer.

"Why did you cut your hair?"

"Because I wanted short hair like ___ and [S, her best friend at school]."

"Oh.  Well, next time talk to me about it first, okay?
It's not okay to cut your hair by yourself."

"[H], where did you put your hair?"

"In the garbage."

Well, I guess the difference between a three-year-old cutting her hair and a six-year-old cutting her hair is that a six-year-old cleans up after herself.  I was actually quite impressed there.  Mess Management is not my favorite aspect of Motherhood.  I think it was easier to forgive her for cutting her amazing hair without consulting me first simply because her beautiful hair wasn't strewn across the floor.  And, I guess being reminded that I'd enjoyed Ben & Jerry's with my hubby the night before helped soften the blow as well.  ;)

Goodbye lovely locks!

:(

Time for some serious hair-cutting.  But, as is typical in our family
anytime anything important is supposed to happen, we played first.

Then we had baths and lunch and put little brother to bed 

so he didn't get any ideas.  Next came zoning out H in front of the tv

so I could fix her hair.

With how much she cut from the front, I had to go short.

Really short.

Her response?

Tears.

"I look like a boy!"

"I hate my hair!"

Oh, dear. . . .  Well, that's what happens when you cut your hair by yourself!

After nap time we pulled out my laptop to show her women with short hair. I also showed her my cousins' daughter, A, who has short, red hair.  H then wanted to see Ms. J, her art teacher, who has short(er) hair, as well as Ms. M and Ms. L, her kindergarten teachers.  So, we went to the school website and pulled up their pictures too.

The trick worked!

Phew!
(She's being super silly in this vid.  It was an hour past her bedtime as I had to touch her hair up some more.)

I've had a hard time adjusting to this as well.  H received her red ringlets from my grandmother, and seeing them would remind me of her and a funny story she once told me.  One night she went to a high school dance (with my Grandpa?) and her hair was still a bit wet, so it curled up tight around her shoulders.  While she was dancing, kids would sneak up behind her and pull on her ringlets, stretching them clear down her back.  This didn't embarrass her a bit, and she laughed along with the rest of them at how fun her hair was to play with.  (The slinky wasn't invented yet. ;) )