Saturday, December 3, 2016

I can talk about it now.

Kind of. Just barely. Still makes me a bit sad.

Five minutes before we were supposed to head out the door on Monday morning, and I was upstairs changing Janie's bum, it got reaaaaalllllly quiet downstairs. And when I called the girls upstairs so I could brush their teeth and comb their hair, no one answered. And when one four-year-old showed up with a sheepish look on her face and lopsided hair, and when I discovered the two-year-old in the bathroom with significantly fewer curls than before, well, that's when I learned... Annie fancies herself a hairdresser.

This is the part of the story that, when told by Annie, she says, "And then Mommy yelled at me." It's true. I didn't handle myself very well. But it was so sad and shocking... Clara's first haircut and all those sweet baby curls, all tidily placed in the garbage. So with shaking hands, I tried my best to cover up the unevenness with some uneven pony tails and we carried on with our morning visit to the boys' school. And then off to get the hair cut fixed, where the stylist looked at Clara's hair and said, "She did a pretty good job, actually."

 That's Annie. Responsible and careful. Even when she's naughty.

We've all learned our lesson. And the hair will grow back.

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