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Viv gets up at 5:30 this morning.  This is early even for her.  I plop her in front of Dora and go to make a gallon of coffee.

Mom, can I have scissors and paper for cutting?

Oh, thank God, my kid has picked today to finally start entertaining herself, and with crafts!  Mama could not be prouder.



One sec, honey.  Making coffee.


Be right there, babe.


What is it, honey?

I cut my hair.

You WHAT????

I cut my hair. 

Before I see her, I spot the pile of hair on the floor.

Cue soundtrack from Psycho in my head:

Reeeeeee!  Reeeeee!  Reeeeee!


hair crop

hair super crop

Aww fuuuuuuuumbleduck.

I raise my eyes slowly from the hair.

Viv is going to be our Flower Girl this summer.

Please, God, not a pixie cut.


And somehow, she’s managed to cut perfectly side-swept bangs.

Perhaps she has a career in styling.  Perhaps my heart will slow down to a normal rate sometime this week.  Perhaps scissors, even the child-safe kind, are to be viewed as no less dangerous than a flaming machete.



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