I was cooking breakfast. Minding my own business. The kids were at the table doing crafts, which means they were cutting and taping, and interpreting their modern art creations. “Look Mommy, this is a Super Fish. It can fly! See, this is how it saves people and kills sharks!” I take it all in stride. “Uh huh, good job!” If I’m honest, I’m not paying a lot of attention.

“Mommy you need to come clean up my hair.”

Wait. What?

“Why, what’s wrong with your hair?” I assumed it was in her face and she needed a ponytail.


In reality, I did need to actually clean up her hair because it was in clumps on the table and bench.

After I had assessed the damage and saw it was only hacked to cheek length, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Then I breathed another sigh of relief. I didn’t realize this until after the cut had taken place, but I had been living with dread over the day this would happen. I have heard enough stories about little girls cutting their own hair to know that it would eventually happen in our house. Now it’s over with, and it could have been much worse. No bald spots on her scalp. Whew. Dodged a bullet.

I’ll report back tomorrow with an update of her new hairdo, after she gets a cut.

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