Follow the Hair Tracks

It all started when I spotted something odd on the stairs. It looked like a clump of hair - of my hair.  At first I was thinking "are my kids driving me so crazy that my hair is falling out?" But as I started to follow the hair tracks, I realized they were leading me back to Mya. 

Actually, it really started when we went to Kindergarten roundup last week. The kids went on a scavenger hunt to learn about the school and collect school supplies. Mya came home with a whole pencil box full of loot - pencils, erasers, crayons, and yes, scissors.

I would've had "the hair talk" with her at that point, but I didn't think it was necessary. Not too long ago her cousin Julia took a pair of scissors to her adorable blonde hair. When Megan sent me the pictures, the first thing out of Mya's mouth was "scissors are only for paper." So upon receiving her first pair of scissors, I didn't think I'd need to have the hair talk.

Back to the hair tracks, I'm sure I had the same shocked reaction that most moms have when they encounter this situation - "Mya! What have you done?!?!" And she in turn likely had the same reaction most kids do when caught in this situation - she hunched over with a sad little pout on her face.

Now Mya is quite lucky in that I've got mild confidence in my ability to cut hair. I've long mastered the "high and tight" preferred by Adam and the military. I dabbled last summer in the faux-hawk for Mason. I will admit that I've even cut my own hair on multiple occasions (actually, my last haircut in November was my own doing). But with Mya, I'd really only dared to trim her hair. She had it cut once professionally, and the rest has just been a trim here or there from me.

So there she sat, pout on her face, while I surveyed the damage. Thankfully, the shortest chunk was out of her bangs, and it was still ear-length. Most of the rest of missing pieces were only about four inches shorter than the rest of her hair. I retrieved my shears and cape and got to work. In all I probably took at least four inches off the length and then added a little layering to try to mask the shortest strands.

After I was done, I took a picture of Mya so she could see her new style. I told her she's supposed to look sad in this picture. But she said, "No, I'm happy!" Turns out she really wanted a haircut. I guess she was sick of me brushing the snarls out of her hair every morning and night. 

 

After her bath she sat on my counter while I blow dried her hair. When she looked in the mirror, she told me "mommy, now I look like you." Well, she does. I guess that means it's my turn to get a haircut...