Thursday, January 29, 2015

A Cut Below the Rest

"You wanna know how I got these bangs?"

Afternoon Readers,

I love my kids for so many different reasons, but one of my top faves is that they listen to the ridiculous plans I make sometimes and still continue to take me seriously. Except when they don't.

"Umm, I think we should just go have someone else do that."

My eyes crept over the top of the computer. "I think you're being a little uptight. There's absolutely no reason this wouldn't work."

Unconvinced, Sundance looked over my shoulder. "But you said someone else would cut my hair and we could go to the hairstylist's."

I avoided further eye contact and went back to scrolling through tutorials on Youtube. "Yes, but that was before the van wouldn't start."

"Why won't it start?"

"Because the battery died for some reason. Daddy will fix it when he gets back. In the meantime, if I can just figure out what this girl means by "cut straight across," we should be in business."

She had every reason to be apprehensive. In the area of actual hair cutting, my experience was nil. However, the fact that we were now stuck at home and the allure of not handing over twenty dollars to give Sundance the bob she'd picked out gave me the confidence/delusion mixture I needed to execute my most irrational plan yet.

Besides, my friend, Grace, had successfully done the very same thing a week before. Nevermind she's perhaps eight times more capable than me. Reason had no place in this decision.

Husband always cuts the boy's hair, so I had the usual suspects on hand: cape, scissors, misplaced optimism. I gathered everything together, popped Sundance on a stool in the kitchen, and steeled myself against the fear I was getting ready to give my daughter one of those haircuts she'd tell stories about at parties when she finally hit her thirties...

"Yes, that was the haircut that was responsible for me never making friends again. To console myself, I decided on a career in politics when I was five, started saving for my campaign fund, and channeled all of that money into a push to turn America into a dictatorship. Unfortunately, I was completely burned out by nineteen, and I've been working as head fry girl at Burger Emporium for the last decade. Someone pass the Cheetos."


I've done many a terrifying thing in my life, but nothing strikes fear in my heart like taking the first step in a process I know I'll then have to finish. Were mullets still ok in 2015? If I messed this up, they'd have to be.

"Moooooom. Mama? Mom!"

I snapped out of my reverie just in time to realize that while I'd been making the first of about thirty cuts, the baby had been steadily unpacking the cabinets. "No, don't do that. I'm trying to make sure your sister doesn't come out looking like Jamie Lee Curtis from True Lies."

The baby looked at me steadily and promptly dumped out a box of crackers onto the island.

"Ahh! Why are you doing this?"

Two boxes of macaroni and the jar of peanut butter flew across the room. I panicked and began yelling things that made less sense than usual. "Don't just. I can't. Don't move or the part won't be parted. Put the scissors on the tab- Syrup! Not the syrup. Hold still or I can't get this even around your ears because why are you trying pour your own milk? You know who pours their own their own milk, child? People who don't care if their sister looks like Dorthy Hamill."

It suddenly dawned me why hairstylists don't run tandem daycare services.

"Ok, done."

Sundance looked in the mirror. "Pretty good."

"And it only took blood, sweat, and ninety-percent of my tear reserves."

It wasn't perfect, but the Kellerman motto lingers somewhere around, "They said it was passable. Yay." So there was much rejoicing. The even scarier take-away here is that my confidence was completely bolstered. I can cut hair, sort of. It can only get better from here. I may even cut my own hair.

Or not.

But maybe.

Until Next Time, Readers!

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