A cut above the rest

Walking up into the playroom one afternoon this week, I noticed a dark blur on the carpet next to Anna's little coloring table. I hunkered down for a closer look and then groaned. I knew it would happen, it's practically a right of passage for all children, but still... ugh.

The blur was a sifted pile of c-shaped curls. Anna's curls. I guess safety scissors only protect fingers, not style. More than half my irritation was because I'd JUST taken the girls a week ago for haircuts and they'd both looked coiffed and adorable. It occurred to me that the whole day I'd been wondering at Anna's spiky hair but just assumed it was a bad case of bed head.

But no. She's cut herself some lovely wings right over her ears, a chunk along the back left and at least an inch off a top layer of bangs. When I called her in, she just smiled.

"Anna, did you cut your hair?"

"Mmmhmm...", delivered with a pleasant smile.

"You are NEVER supposed to cut your hair. I'm taking your scissors away until... until... until it all grows back!"

I know I can't really get mad at her, it's just hair and it's not nearly as bad as it could have been. Hell, when I was little my brother just about left me bald with his gentle ministrations. Which reminds me, that's another warning I need to pass along to my budding stylist.

"You are NEVER supposed to cut your sister's hair either!"

I'm sure that'll just put the idea in her head, of course. But what can you do? At least she cut her hair and not the curtains or the sheets or the electrical cords, right?

And it's winter. Hat season.