Rite Of Passage
Sara (from the living room): "Mom! Guess What?"
Diana (from the kitchen): "What's that, honey"
Sara: "I just cut my HAIR with the SCISSORS!"
Diana: (gulp) "Oh dear."
Yes, she did, indeed.
In retrospect, giving her bangs a trim followed by letting her help me cut the tags off her new summer clothes and then popping off to the kitchen to put the kettle on, leaving the scissors on the table was not the wisest series of events. How could she resist?
The scissors are now on top of my dresser.
Sara is very, very sorry.
I've tried not to laugh, but it's really, really hard.
We've all done it, right? I did. Age of 8. Cut a hunk of my bangs off at the hairline. The hunk that was hanging down in my eyes when I was trying to read. Sadly, what I'd cut off was right over my cowlick. Dad tormented me for ages calling me "Dagwood" as the hair growing in stuck straight up for ages.
And so, Sara has given herself a modified left-sided mullet.
Thankfully, she has 5 months until school pictures.
And I have 5 months to mock.
Labels: The Small-Handed Ones