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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.

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Mooooooom.

One sec, honey.  Making coffee.

Moooooooom.

Be right there, babe.

Mooooooooom. 

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!

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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.

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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.

Amateur.

 

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