Fumble #4

Trying to cut my daughter's bangs. I convinced my husband that I was capable. I own barber scissors and a special comb for gathering hair to clip. I remember my mom cut my bangs when I was a kid and I don't remember it being any big deal. She used to gather them, twist them tight and then snip the bottom across. I did the same thing to my daughter's bangs while she complained about having to sit still. My husband stood behind with the trash basket in place. Again, another thing for my daughter to complain about, "What's that smell? Oh gross, what is that?" These questions came again and again. My husband raised his eyebrows and asked me more than once if I knew what I was doing. Okay. In female that means, "I don't trust you. You can't do this." This makes it even more challenging for me because I love to prove people wrong! My mom always said that I would make a great lawyer. Anyway. I snipped the bangs and I could only ever get about 3/4 of the way through the clip before the scissors closed all the way. Ugh. That last 1/4 was impossible to get even with the first bit. I cut. I cut a little more. I combed her bangs down again and again.

"There," I cried, "I did it." My husband concurred. It looks good. I sent my daughter off to bed pretty proud of myself. I can't sew so it made me proud that I could at least clip a bit of hair. This morning my daughter woke up and I braided her hair. (I did not give her a choice today...in case you read yesterday's saga). She looked adorable. She ran around the kitchen pretending to be a horse (not uncommon) and then I looked at her bangs. "Holy cow" was all I could say. There were long, short, long, short, long, short pieces. Her bangs looked crazy. As I got her into the car with her dad I told her to whisk them of to the side if the long pieces got in her eyes (this helped camouflage the fact that her mom CANNOT cut hair). Of course she was still busy neighing like a horse a did not hear a word I said.

After school I brought her home. I looked at her bangs again and combed them down. She would get frustrated and whisk them back into a mess with her hand. I would comb them down again and she would repeat. Finally, I enlisted daddy's help and he simply said, "Please take her to Great Clips." Enough said.