“I’m so SICK of my hair!” the oldest huffed. “I’m so sick of all the tangles it gets all the time.”
I sympathize. Until I was 15, I referred to my hair as “The Beast.” Clearly, you can see who she gets her hair from.
“I want to cut it,” she demanded.
“Really? You want it cut? But you may lose all those pretty banana curls you have,” I explained.
“So. Then I’ll just donate it, and some little girl who’s sick can enjoy my pretty curls.”
How do you argue with that?
Today was a non-school day, thanks to Hurricane Sandy. We did not get hit as hard as New York and New Jersey, and for that, I am thankful. My hearts go out to them.
So, instead of sitting around the house, for day two, we decided to head out to the hair dressers. No better time than the present. At least, that’s what they tell me.
We waited a painstaking forty-five minutes before it was her turn. We told the hair dresser what we wanted to do. So, after a little measuring and an elastic around the top, the hair dresser said, “You ready, Paige?”
“Never mind her. Is MOM ready?”
“Alright, are you ready Mom?”
“No.” Too late. She was already cutting. Paige was so thrilled to see that big hunk of hair off her head. And she proudly held it up.
Are you gonna cry, Mom?” the hair dresser asked.
“Don’t judge me,” I told her.
So, Paige is missing a LOT of hair. But some other little girl will be able to enjoy it.
Someone says, “You have done the GREATEST job raising your children.”
No. Probably not the greatest. But I’m pretty sure at least this one won’t turn into a serial killer. The jury’s still out on the little one.
I’m kinda proud of my little maniac. Remind me of this when she does something later that makes me want to rip an equally big portion of my hair out.