This morning was like a lot of other mornings in our house. We woke up, my children did or did not come downstairs dressed—okay, my daughter came downstairs dressed, because she always does—and they were served breakfast when they had their clothes on. Only it was a summer day without camp, so my son got to have breakfast in his pajamas.
My daughter decided on yogurt for breakfast and I did the “oh wait!” dash I do lots of mornings which happens when I see her leaning over to messily eat anything she could get her hair in. I ran to the bedroom, got a brush, an elastic band and one of the various lubricating sprays I use to help with her hair.
My daughter’s hair is beautiful—when it is behaving, and that’s not that often. It has been cut only once in her three-and-a-half years (although there was a tidy up second cut a week later, so technically there were two cuts, but who’s counting.) She has fine, thin, easily breakable hair that doesn’t need to be cut, mostly because it cuts itself through any type of slight insult.
It gets in her eyes, so we put it up in gentle, non-pulling hair ties. but the wear eventually does the tear thing and her very, very slow-growing hair comes out one or two strands at a time and never really catches up to gain any length. Of late, she likes goggles at the pool and you do not even want to get me started on the damage one small girl can do to delicate hair with goggles over a two-hour pool visit.
So today I said something to my husband about should we, yet again, consider cutting her hair? We sighed and agreed we’d think about it for a little longer. Then, as I was brushing my daughter’s hair to go to lunch, she looked at me in the mirror and said, “Mom, could you cut my hair off?” I looked back and asked, “how much do you want to cut off?” She told me without pause, “three scoops.”
I put down the brush, dialed my hair salon and asked if Sue was in today and if she had availability for a hair cut. She was coming in at two o’clock and she could not only cut my daughter’s hair, but I got a second appointment for my son too. I hung up and told my patiently waiting daughter.
She wanted to know if we were going straight away to get her hair cut. I explained it would be right after lunch. She seemed excited. I seemed nervous.
It is done. She even has bangs now. She looks cute, although it’s not little girl long flowing hair cute I always wanted and most likely will never have. But I like cute. She looks remarkably like her cousin, Olivia, did at the same age. Olivia’s birthday is tomorrow and I am going to have to take a picture of my daughter and send it to her to tell her we’re thinking about her a whole lot on her birthday, because every time we see our daughter, we’re reminded of her.
The Big Boy Update: We went to eat dinner at a fondue restaurant tonight. We sat down, ordered our drinks and then my son told us, very excitedly, what super power we each had: “Daddy, you are the power of night night time, mommy you are the power of sun, Reese is the power of grass and I’m the power of fire.” We were surprised when he remembered what our powers were a few minutes later. Then, we realized he was basing our powers off the colors of our fondue sticks. At that point, we spent a good bit of time combining our sticks to save people and fight natural disasters with our color sticks of super powers.
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: My daughter was telling a story tonight. In here general fashion, she was saying “um” a lot as she spoke. My husband asked her if she could try to not say, “um” while she talked and was she aware. She continued to tell the story, but as she did so, every time she said “um” my husband pointed his finger at her. She started smiling as he did this and it became a kind of game. She made it past one sentence without saying “um” and then a second one. Then, she caught herself saying, “um” in the next sentence and broke out laughing. A little bit later, she and my husband were going walking up the stairs, going to bed. She turned to him and said, “Daddy, I say ‘um’ a lot."
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