Playing Barbershop

While I was downstairs making dinner and Kent was in our bedroom reading the paper, Brandt got out his scissors and decided he and Blythe should play barbershop.  Brandt was the barber and Blythe was his customer.  The results are, in a word, horrific.  Brandt cut and cut and cut, leaving a misshapen mess I will not be able to do anything with.  I was so mad I cried, although, to my credit, I didn't yell at Brandt.  I just cried.  It will be months before Blythe's hair looks normal again.  The more I look at it, the more certain I am that Brandt was trying to give her a mullet--short on top and long in the back.

Kent reminded me that our daughter is beautiful and all too soon she will begin worrying about her physical appearance when it is really her lovely spirit that matters most.  So I am going to take her my stylist next week and she if she can't do something (anything really) to make it look marginally better, and then live with it.  After all, hair grows.  And to her credit, Blythe just laughed when she looked in the mirror.  She doesn't mind at all.

When I registered Brandt for kindergarten a couple of weeks ago, I received a list of things Brandt needs to be able to do before he begins school.  One of the requirements was that Brandt be able to hold a pencil and scissors correctly and know how to use them.  No question in my mind about his scissoring ability, although lots of questions about his ability to judge the appropriate way to utilize them.