The Great Hair Massacre of '09

Sigh, it still hurts to talk about this....but for the sake of proper documentation of all things Amelia (both good and bad), it has to be done.

Last Thursday, while reading downstairs minding my own business, I was greeted by a chipper 3 year old who should have been just waking up from her nap. Upon looking up from my book, I noticed said 3 year old looked a bit different than the last time I had seen her, a mere two hours earlier. Sure, she had on different clothing than when she went in her room for a nap (numerous outfit changes are standard practice at our house during nap time), but it didn't take me long to realize that the clothes were not the only thing different on the little lady standing in front of me wearing a huge, sheepish smile. Her hair, yes her lovely straight golden locks of which I am constantly complimented on, was shorter. A lot shorter. Mostly in the front and upon further examination, the sides. Mullet-like, if you will.

Disbelieving, I asked, "What happened to your hair?". Perhaps she placed some sort of baby oil or lotion product onto her head that gave it to illusion of being shorter. Surely that was it. Nope. "I cut it!" she replied proudly.

Instant freak out mode set in, which included hyperventilating, dizziness (most likely from the hyperventilating), tears, and lots of rushing around the house looking for the evidence that surely wouldn't be there because this had to be some kind of mistake.

Or not. Upon entering Amelia's room, it was pretty apparent that sometime during her "nap" she had confiscated a pair of scissors from the office across the hall. And, although they were only kid scissors--safety scissors I even think they are called--some serious damage had been done during this supposed nap time. A treasured book from Jason's childhood had been cut to shreds. One of Amelia's beloved pillowcase dresses had been snipped at the shoulders. A wooden necklace she threaded with her own hands had been dissected into many pieces. And on the floor near her trash can lay several large clumps of hair.

I immediately dialed Jason's number--both cell and work and did not get a response on either one. Then, I dialed my mom, desperate for someone to tell me that was a quick fix to this dilemma. A sort of hair glue that I had never noticed before or super kid-friendly vitamins that make your hair grow overnight. After my mom didn't answer, I gave my friend, Susie, a call. She is a nurse, after all, she will know how to fix this emergency!

Three people called, none an

swered. My mom was the first to return my call minutes later and she could hear the panic in my voice. By then, I was a mess--a pile of tears which quickly reduced Amelia to a pile of tears as well. With her lip quivering and tears in her eyes, she said to me, "Mommy, don't cry. Come downstairs and color! That will make you feel better". Despite being back in town for only minutes, my mom declared that she was coming over. Finally, someone to fix this problem!

My mom came in bearing a cheap comb and hair cutting scissors. These were not the magical tools I was envisioning. The first thing out of her mouth? "Oh Jodi, it doesn't look that bad." Upon further examination, I think her assessment may have changed, but even I had to admit that it was alarming how incredibly straight Amelia managed to cut her bangs (if you can call them that). In fact, when it was all said and done, it took me 5 days to even decide that maybe some of the damage could be evened out a little with some extra trimming.

Part of my panic, of course, stemmed from the continual thought that in almost exactly 3 months, Amelia was to be a flower girl in a wedding. (And as a side note: Jason was the ring bearer in the bride-to-be mom's wedding many years ago. Guess what he did right before the wedding? Yep, snipped his hair. Do you think there is some sort of gene?) Several people have told me that 3 months is a long time, but I can tell you that it certainly is not long enough to undo the damage that my little one did. After catching my breath over the wedding panic, a new wave of dread washed over my body when I realized that Tuesday was pre-school picture day.

Needless to say, we've survived this "tragedy". I feel a little silly having to remind myself that there are way worse things in life than a 3 year old giving herself a haircut. Hey, I've even been able to laugh about it a tiny bit. Some women in my stroller aerobics group had the nerve to say they thought it looked cute! Cute?!

In a final attempt to normalize her appearance, I decided to take her to a professional on Monday afternoon just to see what she could do. She shortened the back and gave her a little bob and then made a very few minor adjustments to the (very short) top and sides. It looks better, I guess, almost intentional.

But I miss my little girl's hair that was all one length. The hair I could stick a bow into without having to search and search for a long enough strand to make it stay.

And about those school pictures on Tuesday--I found out when I picked her up that she didn't get them taken. Apparently I didn't return the necessary form (mostly because I never got it!). So much for documenting her first school picture and her first self-given haircut all in one.

But, really, that's okay with me.

Amelia the night of the Great Hair Massacre. I realize it isn't the best picture, but remember that every picture on the blog from here on out will be further documentation of the incident.