(Adorable photos to come!

I’m working off of a foreign computer  to end your suspense…)

It all started seven years ago, when a friend convinced me to try to cut Ryan’s hair myself. It would save us money. It would save us time. It would bond us together.

We bought a little hair-cutting kit and I got to work making him look like an 80’s basketball player. I’d finish up my hours of snipping and buzzing and discover my creation: a big puff-ball head. Every time. He’d try to explain “blending”, but none of my neurons responded to the information. The only thing hair-cutting did for us was unveil the limitations of my visual abilities and eye-hand coordination. Ryan has happily returned to his barbershop and I am THRILLED to spend $12 every couple of weeks to keep him looking good.

All these years, that hair-cutting kit has been tucked safely in the shadows of our linen closet.

As things go, I recently started day-dreaming about a cute chin-length bob for Viv. ‘Thought she’d look so cute with her hair swinging here and there as she skips through life. I started by asking around for salon recommendations. Then my friends started talking about how they cut their children’s hair… they seemed so confident… their children look so adorable… hair-cutting suddenly seemed like something I could try again.

Friday morning, Viv sat primly on a kitchen chair, strawberry-blond hair combed down her back. She fully trusted her mother to handle the silver scissors with care.

Then her mother started cutting.

And the next thing I knew, strips of 6-inch soft red curls lay at my feet and my precious 4-year-old looked like a toddler had butchered her hair in the night, on a merry-go-round, with pinking shears.

The crazy part is, I honestly don’t know how it happened. I felt sick. I vividly remember that feeling that evokes the question, “WHAT HAVE I DONE?!”

I kept a strong game-face, not wanting Viv to think that her value was bound to her hairstyle or her appearance, but feeling terrible that she trusted me and I, well, I ruined her hair.

Commence a frantic search for an available hair-stylist. Within minutes, an understanding stylist took us under her wing and helped to shape Viv’s hair while sparing as much as possible.

I couldn’t believe the beautiful little pixie who emerged despite my errors. I couldn’t have emphasized her eyes, her freckles, and her cute little head of curls even if I tried. Nevertheless, it took me the whole day to get over my reckless mistake. Somehow, Vivi’s gracious response made me feel even worse!

So, the ear-piercing was my consolation prize. Though I had never even thought about ear-piercing before, it seemed like the right thing to do. Viv was up for it. Ryan was up for it. So, Friday night, we all headed out to Claire’s where Lia roamed wide-eyed amongst all of the fancy accessories and Vivi sat bravely as two attendants pierced her ears!

She really looks so cute, cute, cute.

As for that hair-cutting kit, well, it is waiting securely in our yard-sale pile. And I will not be cutting hair ever again. Until, of course, Lia wants her ears pierced and begs me to give her a trim.