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My daughter was three years old and my oldest son had just turned five. The baby was sleeping and the back yard really needed mowed. It was almost 5:00, time for the boy I was babysitting to go home. We had tee ball that night. I was coaching the team and needed to be there by 5:45. But still, there was just enough time for me to get the back yard mowed. Half way through, the mom came to pick up her son. We said, "See you at the ball game in a little while," and I left the kids inside while I finished. Ten minutes later I came back into the house.
Both kids are standing in the living room, with the light of the evening sun coming in the picture window behind them. I'm hot, sweating and in a hurry to get cleaned up and ready for the game. My son, is his most helpful voice says to me, "I put it all in the trash for you, Mom." What? What did he put in the trash? Then I see them. He's holding my scissors.
I shift my gaze a foot to the left and I see her. My beautiful, curly haired daughter is standing with a wide grin on her face. I gasp. Half of her hair is gone. Gone. In its place is a mini-bang mullet that not even a mother could love. And bless her, my little darling looks up at me and says, "Don't I look beautiful, Momma?"
Now, I know that the right thing to say there would have been "Yes," but I just couldn't make myself. The words, "No. You look horrible!" came flying out of my mouth. Her little face fell and I quickly recovered and added, "I mean you are beautiful. But your hair looks horrible!"
Eli immediately knew that his plan had gone south. Without hesitation he leaned his head forward and said, "She cut some of mine, too." When I looked really hard, I could almost make out one patch where he was missing a few strands. Not enough to notice and certainly not the equivalent of what he had done to hers!
At that point, I took the scissors, sent them to their room and called my mom. She laughed. She ALWAYS laughs. It's her number one coping mechanism. And she made me laugh and reminded me that hair will grow back. And she said not to kill anyone and not to scream and that she would be there to get Abby in a few minutes so I could get Eli ready for his ballgame. And she told me to grab my camera because I would want the pictures later.
And because my mom gives the best advice, I took pictures. These pictures.
And then I made her brother bring the scissors and get in the pictures, too. (He had had a bike wreck the week before, thus the beat up face. I promise, it was not haircut related.) He almost managed to look guilty in this one.
By the time we took this one, I was able to laugh a little. Obviously, Abby was not traumatized by the event. Shortly after this, her Nana came and picked her up. She brought her to the ballgame rocking the side ponytail. I was mortified but she just enjoyed the attention.
The next day, I was able to get her in at the local salon. This is where the poor stylist had to start from.
And this is where she ended up. Abby loved it.
And by Christmas it had turned into quite the cute little bob.
None of my kids have ever cut their own or each other's hair again. I think it was the threat of 100 spankings that prevented further escapades. And the constant reminders that you have to have a license to cut other people's hair. And the hearing of this story about a million times in the seven years since it happened.
That day, Haircut Day, I had only a few seconds to decide if I would laugh or cry. I'm glad I chose laughter that day and I'm glad I took my mom's advice and took pictures. I don't ever want to forget these little stinkers!
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