Safety scissors can indeed cut hair

I like to believe that I don't take much in life too seriously. I try to find humor in everyday occurences. I like to laugh at the craziness created by life with two little ones. Let me emphasize ... I LIKE to do that. Just because I try to do this, well, it doesn't mean I am always successful.

See, there are some days the chaos of living in a house that I can never seem to keep clean drives me up a wall. There are some times when just looking at another load of laundry to fold and put away will put me over the edge. There are some days when the whining and fighting in the backseat of my car makes me yell, "STOP FIGHTING!" in a voice that is entirely humor-free.

Then, there is a day like today. A day, when I simply could not find an ounce of humor in the situation. When I called Cory sobbing so hard he was sure an ambulance was on its way to the house to pick up a critically injured child. I am sure, one day, far in the future, I will laugh about this. I'm sure, one day, this story will be told with hilarity around the dinner table. I'm sure, one day, this story will indeed be reflective of the title of this blog. Oh, but today is not that day.

Today, I discovered that turnaround is a bitch. Or something like that. Remember when Charlotte cried inconsolably at her first hair cut? Today, I was the one to turn on the waterworks.You see, today, my four and a half year old decided she wanted to play "haircut lady." I will pause to let you imagine how that sweet plan could have possibly backfired. Doesn't take much imagination to figure out how it all went wrong, huh?

It all started so innocently. I was busily cleaning up the chaos of Christmas, and the girls were quietly playing in Molly's room. I, naively, assumed they were playing Barbies or baby dolls. (They had received quite a few of those for Christmas, so I thought that was a safe assumption.) I'm vacuuming away when I hear Molly calling to me. She proudly paraded Charlotte to the top of the stairs. "Mommy, do you like Charlotte's hair? I did it." I glanced up and thought she had just been brushing it (It never occured to me that she would cut it!). I absentmindedly nodded and continued vacuuming.

A couple minutes later, I hear Molly calling to me again. I'd finished vacuuming, so I turn off the machine and wheel around to face my two precious daughters. Immediately, my eyes land on the right side of Charlotte's head, and what used to be her adorable little bob haircut. Only, now, her hair is laying in multiple different length chunks all along the side of her head.

"WHAT?!?!?!" I screamed. "Did you cut Charlotte's hair?" I question Molly.
"No."
"Did you cut Charlotte's hair?"
"No."
"Don't lie to me, Molly. Did you cut Charlotte's hair?"
"I cut Charlotte's hair."

At this point, I promptly burst into tears. Then, of course, Molly starts crying. She knows she's in trouble now. Charlotte, of course, is blissfully unaware of the tragedy that has befallen her head of hair. She is smiling and happily playing with Barbies and baby dolls.

The side view of the hatchet job.

And, front on.

It was right about then that I tried to call Cory and explain what had happened. Apparently, my blubbering wasn't exactly understandable because he thought I said Molly had cut Charlotte. He had images of bleeding and ambulances. Once he finally figured out I was talking about a hair cut, he was immensely relieved. And, not offering the sympathy needed in this moment of familial tragedy.

Torture at the hair salon

With the sounds of screams and wails still echoing in my mind, I am sitting down to write about the horrific experience of Charlotte's first hair cut. Or, if she were telling the story: the day my parents tied me down and tortured me while they took pictures and ignored my screams for help.

I've been pondering Charlotte's first hair cut for a while. I know you shouldn't compare siblings, but some things are just obvious. Molly has curls. My curls. They started showing up before she was 1, and we were able to delay her first hair cut until she was about 3 and a half. With curls, you can't see the unevenness of hair growth. It just looks cute and curly. Charlotte has more of the Lafferty hair, because, with the exception of a couple of cow-licks, it is stick straight.

Now, being a curly girl myself, this straight hair business baffles me. When Charlotte's hair appeared to be headed in the straight direction, I started thinking what we should do with it. (I say "we," but really it was me. Cory, I don't think, put one iota of thought into Charlotte's hair style, unless it was me asking him what he thought of my idea.) My mind immediately went to the adorable little girls with their cute, straight bobs. (Think Suri Cruise when she was younger.) It was settled. That's what we were going to do. But, I didn't know at what age to do it. I didn't want to make her grow up too fast, after all, she's still my baby. However, her mullet in the back was starting to drive me absolutely crazy. I waffled back and forth for quite a while.