Whatever the reason may be, after dozens of terrible attempts at cutting Archer's hair through the years (and later going in to get it re-done) I decided, out of the blue, the other day, to cut Fable's hair. We were having breakfast, the two of us, when suddenly it became undeniably clear that growing her hair long was a terrible idea. Clearly she was a short-haired pixie of a thing. She needed a bob. And I would give it to her. Right then and there as she sat eating her toast at the breakfast table. I abandoned my coffee and went straight for the scissors. Diving in without so much as a pause to consider my decision.
At first I was proud of the job I did! Her bangs were perfect! Which made sense considering I've been trimming my bangs myself since high school. And even though the back of her 'do was kind of asymmetrical, it was funky! Fresh!
It wasn't until later in the day that I became more aware of the havok I had wreaked on Fable's poor head. She couldn't care less, of course, but I became obsessed with the mess I'd made, spending the remainder of the day pulling and mussing and flipping and pinning and trying to fix via styling what I had clearly effed up.
What was I thinking? Why did I cut her hair! It was *so close* to ponytail length and I blew it with a stupid idea that I HAD to act on immediately without thinking and it wasn't even MY hair it was HER hair and my poor child now must suffer because of my stupidity and what gives me the authority to think even for two seconds that I have any hair-cutting wherewithal whatsoever! I don't even have hair cutting scissors! Just Archer's paper scissors he uses for homework assignments! Ah!
I appoligized profusely to Fable but she loved her hair short. No more hair in her eyes. No more pigtails. It was low-maintenance and totally her. Whatever if it looked like someone cut her hair while blindfolded.
"Where'd you get your new hair?" a friend asked Fable, the day after I cut it. Clearly she was laughing on the inside.
"From me. I know, I know. But I'm going to fix it! You'll see! You'll see."
Except, I couldn't fix it myself. I tried. Made it worse than before. (You knew that was coming, right?) I cut it too short on one side. Too short in the back. Etc. Etc.
Finally I took a friend's advice and made a hair appointment at The Yellow Balloon on the other side of the hill. I made an appointment to get Fable's hair fixed and instead of trying to cut Archer's myself (again) I made an appointment for him as well. The woman who cut Fable's hair not only did a fantastic job at fixing what I had royally screwed up, but awarded Fable with hot pink sunglasses, a hair clip of her choosing (she chose pink, obviously) and sprinkled glitter all over her hair as a grand finale.
Fable was in HEAVEN and surprisingly so was I. Who knew a professional hairstylist could cut my kid's hair better than I could? I mean...
Sometimes I make myself crazy thinking I should be able do it all. Maybe because I have it in my head that my mom could. That she still can. But then I take a closer look at the pictures of me when I was a little kid and I see that (what do you know?) she couldn't cut hair for shit either.
my first-grade school picture
You know what they say, it takes a village to style a child. And to teach a parent when to step away from the scissors.