On Monday's I drop #1 at preschool and then the twins take a music class 30 minutes later (at the same place). Well after music there is not a great amount of time to do anything so I drive the twins around until they fall asleep and wait until release time in the parking lot. While I was driving the twins around I saw the school was calling me. I thought, darn, #1 must be sick. However, it was the director. I thought, I must have made a mistake on my registration paperwork for next year. Not so much. They sent in the big guns because #1 crawled underneath a table and cut her hair. As in, they are telling me they think it can be "reconstructed" and won't have to be all cut off. Excuse me? I didn't overreact because, hell, kids do that. I was just in shock. So I promptly called one of my best friends and sobbed into the phone like someone had died. I'm pretty particular about #1's hair. Just that it is long and she has only had slight trims. And there was a huge lump in my throat until I could pick her up to see the damage for myself.
So we found ourselves getting our first real, true, hair cut at the age of three yesterday. Luckily my step-mother's hair stylist was able to fit her in after my Dad's appointment.
She did the damage on the left side and cut a big chunk up to her chin. Basically, I think she was trying to give herself "The Rachel" from the 90s. #1 explained to me, "I just wanted short hair." Since a 3 year old does not understand the concept of style nor unintended self mutilation of her mane, I get it. So we proceeded to get a good bit cut off.
This one, is a fierce one. Determination will serve her well. When she's 20. I, on the other hand, simply dread having to teach her how to drive.
In other words:
The Housewife
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