I thought I had escaped it.
I thought I was one of the few parents who didn’t have a child who did this to themselves.
I thought I was special.
I thought wrong.
Today I went into my bathroom and spotted a strange pile of hair in the garbage can. I pulled it out and was befuddled. For a second I thought I was going crazy and forgot I cut my own hair or something. All these crazy scenarios passed through my mind including wondering if my husband cut some of my hair as a joke in my sleep.
What the heck?
A doll maybe?
As I set it on the counter, it hit me.
I went down the hallway and called for Abby. She met me halfway and I asked her “what did you do?” “Nothing,” she said as she grabbed her hair and looked at me innocently. “Abby, did you touch my scissors today?” “Tomorrow?” she asked.
I’m easily distracted and she knows it.
“Abby, did you cut your hair?” I asked.
“Yes, because I wanted you to but you wouldn’t” she answered.
We had a whole long conversation about how she never asked me to cut her hair and the fact that 3-year-old kids don’t go rooting around in grown-up bathrooms nor do 3-year-olds touch scissors.
Then I surveyed the damage.
I suppose it could have been worse.
See the marker on her arm?
Not to mention I found out she was sneaking candy today and eating it secretly in her room.
This sweet, beautiful girl with the big, bright blue eyes.
She’s gonna drive me to live in a padded room.
She follows all this mischevious behavior up today with this: “mommy I just want you to be happy.”
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