Hair Cut

The other day I was laying on the couch engrossed in my current literary obsession, UNDAUNTED, with the kids happily playing on the floor at my feet. Rachel had been combing her baby's hair and decided to move to a bigger subject - me. She began stroking my head and said, "Mom can I fix your hair?" "Sure Honey" I replied like a good mother. Besides, it wasn't preventing me from finding out if the Indians captured the pioneer company so I didn't really care. She proceeded to finger and comb and "fix" my hair. Then she disappeared. I didn't really notice she was gone, so good was the book. She reappeared though and continued to fix my hair in completely silent concentration.

Then my son appeared at my side.

He held out his little hand to show me his prize - a large lock of hair. But not just ANYONE'S hair...MY HAIR.

I gasped and spun around to see my daughter with her eyes as big as golf balls holding the haircutting scissors in her hand. She quickly hid them behind her back as I shrieked, "WHAT DID YOU DO?!?" She erupted in sobs with crocodile tears pouring down her cheeks. I jumped to the mirror to assess the damage. Fortunately my hair is long but layered so the shorter piece disappeared nicely into the rest of the mop. I held her on my lap, let her cry, assured her I wasn't mad, but that what she did was WRONG and she should never cut hair EVER AGAIN, and then proceeded to hide the scissors high out of reach...

which is where they should have been in the first place.