Almost every mother I know has had a child cut their own hair, I just thought it would never happen to me. Just like I thought my babies wouldn't come out looking like aliens when they were born. Why would I put it past my child who has decorated my carpet with red nail polish, stuck two beads in her ear, smeared Aquafor all over the keyboard of Nate's beloved piano (Honey, it happened months ago, and my hour of cleaning with toothpicks was so effective, you didn't even notice. Just yesterday you confirmed that you love the way it plays. I'm explaining myself on the off chance that you actually read this post!), played in her own poop, and been the culprit of countless other catastrophes?
Obviously I am in denial of the possibility of my children looking ugly.
But they did look like aliens when they were born. And she did butcher her bangs. Okay, I'm kind of exaggerating. I've actually seen much, much worse. But still, I'm bummed about it. Especially because I've been growing them out and loving her new look, sans bangs.
Right when my visiting teachers arrived yesterday morning, I looked at Elizabeth and thought, "Why does she look a little crazier than usual?" Then it hit me, "Did you cut your bangs?!!?" She said yes, and then I lost it and embarrassed myself in front of those poor ladies just trying to do their duty. On the 7th, I might add (quite impressive).
So after they left, I made a quick phone call to one of my fashion consultants who helped me decide to try to turn them into "swoop" bangs.
Some of you may have heard a story from my past which would lead you to believe that hair cutting is not exactly my forte. And believe you me, if I'm using thinning shears, it's really not. I do slightly better with normal hair cutting scissors. But I still don't think my skills would threaten anyone's job security at Fantastic Sam's.
I pulled them back for church so no one had to see her way too short, homemade haircut bangs. (Notice the tiny ones that wouldn't stay back).
The coordinating coral and eyelet church outfits lifted my spirits somewhat.
Until we got home and took her hair out. Then I remembered that my children do in fact look ugly sometimes. I guess it goes along with the theory that I've developed to make myself feel better about not getting ready everyday: Letting people see me at my worst makes me look that much prettier when I actually put forth the effort to get ready.
P.S. Children's scissors can in fact cut hair (all the grown up scissors are up high -- I did actually TRY to prevent this one).
May this be the first and last time any of my children play the cut-cut game, the name my cousins developed for this lovely ritual when they were children.