Dear Hayzittle....This week you were practicing your scissor use with some fancy scissors. This was fine but you weren't able to cut with them well because of their big handles. So, I found a dollar pair that would fit your little mitts and taught you the rules on how to hold the scissors when walking with them, how to hold them in your hand and how to cut paper and "ONLY PAPER or if Mommy says it is okay to cut." So we cleaned up after our little lesson together and I went to the bathroom to get prepared to leave to pick up your brother from school. I came out of the bathroom to an unreasonable quietness and called out your name. You came down the hall holding something in your hand...Oh it is your little scissors. Look at you! Holding them just like Mommy showed you........uh...your hair....where did this hunk of hair come from...HAZEL! Where did you do this? You said with a giant grin, "My room, Mama. I cut my hair."
Why yes you did. Luckily in the same parking lot as Henry's school is a hair stylist and I dropped in and she evened it up so it could grow together. The entire way there you were giggly and unleashed, very proud and exuberant. After your short fringe trim we played at the playground where you were dragon for the 8 year old boys playing on the climber, growling and screaming them away again, and again. If anyone brings up your haircut you get so proud. I guess there is that in this thing that is going to be a long grow out. I couldn't not laugh, the whole thing made you so happy. When we returned home you demanded I take photos of you on the sidewalk.
Love, Mama
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