I thought it was so sweet when I walked into the living room yesterday and saw Adam combing Elizabeth's hair so lovingly. He does that a lot, so I wasn't too surprised. What surprised me was the flash of the green handles on my kitchen shears I caught out of the corner of my eye as I strolled by.
OH. MY. GAWD!
I don't have any pictures of the actual hair-cut per se since I was standing stupefied and uttering a few four letter words, but if you could've seen their faces. Oh, they were soooo proud. According to Adam, Elizabeth needed a hair cut to be ready for preschool and he was saving me a lot of money by doing it himself.
The smiles on their faces were absolutely priceless. I will carry those images with me the rest of my life. It really was sweet, you know, except for the fact that now there were two plastic baggies full of her beautiful baby hair all over our carpet.
Oh, they were so proud.
I am proud of myself because I let it go. I. Let. It. Go.
I could've made a huge, ugly scene about it, but why? Can't fix it. Seriously. You can't fix it. I can't even take her to a stylist to remedy it, she has BALD SPOTS. On just ONE side of her head. The only way to make her whole head the same is to shave the other side. Given that option, her punk rockerish style is kinda growing on me. You know, when it doesn't make me tear up a little and fill sorry for her when she actually does start preschool on the first of September.
I wonder if they'll let her wear a hat?
