Sick Day And A Short-Cut Story.

A few weeks into 2012, folks, and we have our first colds. Oh, dread! And this particular cold - which hit A. and E. simultaneously, thankfully - was a doozy. A., who recently started going to school two days a week, missed school, missed her first-ever Spanish class, and her much-loved music class. The kids were down and out, couped up, and it was time to be creative. E. was along for the ride and desperately wanted to do whatever big sister A. was doing, especially when it came to playing dress-up.

As A. approaches three-years old, she wants to do everything "all by [her]self!" And this includes making her lunch, spreading-knife and all. Feeling under the weather was no exception. She would continue to do everything all by herself, just with sniffles and less-than-usual sleep, i.e., sleep-deprived stubborness.

By the way, see those short, short, SHORT bangs? Yeah, those weren't intentional. Here's the story: on "picture" day (no less), I trimmed E.'s nails and foolishly set down the nail-trimming scissors and stepped away for (the classic I-swear-it-was-only-a) minute. When I returned, I found A. holding the scissors against her head, beneath her barrette and proudly exclaiming - to my horror -, "LOOK MAMA! I CUT MY HAIR!" So, the hair that I worked so hard to grow and finally had looking much like this (though typically out of the eyes) . . .

. . . was chopped off. I try not to think too much about it (and when I do, I try to be thankful she didn't cut more or from the top of her head). Even in the moment, I just had to breath and move forward and, you know, prepare for the pictures that would be taken later. Pretty classic, right? Ah, well. A week later we had A.'s fine work, er, enhanced, by a haircutting professional. And now we wait and watch it grow. All the while, the scissors shall remain in a top-secret, you-will-never-find-them location.