Cry Me a River (Meera’s HaircutS)

Yesterday morning, before I left for work, I was cleaning up the playroom when I spotted Meera with a pair of sharp “grown up” scissors that she is not supposed to have access to. I took them away from her, gave her a stern and quick Scissors Lecture, then headed to the kitchen to put the scissors away. I was only a few steps outside of the playroom when I noticed a clump of hair on the floor. I thought it odd and reached down to grab it, thinking it had been pulled from one of Meera’s dolls. But when I picked it up off the floor I realized it was actually real hair. Real, blond, beautifully silky, soft, long, baby-thin hair. Obviously, Meera’s. Before I could even gather a thought, I spotted another clump about a foot away from me on the floor. And then another. And another. By the time I had picked it all up I had collected a huge overflowing handful of my sweet darling child’s gorgeous hair. I yelled out for Meera to come right away, and immediately assessed the damage. She had cut noticeably big blunt chunks of hair from all along the front left side of her face. The entire back and the right side all remained fully intact. It could have been a lot worse. Nonetheless, it was not pretty. When they heard me call out to Braydon, “Meera cut her hair!” the boys came running. Owen took one look at Meera and said, “Meera! Why did you cut your beautiful golden hair off?!?!!” Meera looked up at him, started to cry, and said, “I was doing like Mulan.” The boys knew exactly what she meant and proceeded to explain to us in full detail how in the movie Mulan, Mulan cuts her hair short to make herself look like a boy. Once we calmed everyone down, I launched into a full-blown on-the-spot Family Meeting right then and there, with Rules of Scissors and Hair Cutting as the only two items on the agenda. The meeting was adjourned, I went and added “Make Hair Appointment for Meera” to my day’s To-Do List, and we all went on with our regular business. But I had a pit in my stomach on-and-off throughout the day, including when I called to make the hair appointment and had to explain that my three year old had given herself a not-very-professional-looking haircut. This photo, by the way, does not even come close to doing Meera’s self-cut justice (but I didn’t have it in me to try to capture the real extent of the damage):

This morning, I dragged all three kids to a nearby hair salon for Meera’s fix-it-upper. This was Meera’s second haircut of her lifetime— the first being a sweet little trim from MorMor in our kitchen this past February. After consulting with the stylist we agreed that it would have to be ‘layered’ along both sides of the front in order to even it out and smooth over the damage Meera had done. For the record: this ‘layered’ ‘chunky’ ‘styled’ look is not at all a look I’d ever voluntarily choose for my 3-year-old daughter, and I was heartsick as I watched the snipping take place.

Kyle and Owen waited, considering themselves super duper lucky to have a little sister who cut off her own hair yesterday, since it allowed for them the great opportunity to play with their beloved but not-much-allowed-to-be-used iPods today.

Here’s Meera just a few steps out of the hair salon. Again, not a look I’d have chosen for her. But again, it could be a lot worse too.

In the end, we have to chock it up to yet another never-a-dull-moment life experience, roll our eyes, and laugh it off. But today’s a day when I’ll be anxious to get the kids to bed— as soon as they’re down Braydon will make martinis and we’ll sit in the family room sipping them while I cry a river over this latest saga and he assures me that it is all o.k. Then, tomorrow, I’ll start experimenting in new ways with barrettes and clips and brand new ideas for doing Meera’s hair. Ugh.