Bart had been asking to have her hair cut off short for a while now. She has a very sensitive head and brushing her hair sometimes makes her cry. Then recently she has taken to chewing her hair which was driving my crackers.
So last week, armed with a photo of a cute hair cut, the girls and I went to the hairdresser. I don’t know what it is with hair stylists now a days, but I have a really difficult time getting them to cut girls hair short. I had the same problem when AJ took scissors to her own hair and we had to ger it cut off, the stylist just wouldn’t cut it short enough.
Anyway after forty-five minutes of Bart in the chair and me trying to keep AJ amused the girl came over and asked if the cut was okay. It is a sweet style, but nothing like the photo we gave her and about an inch longer at the back too. But by this time I could tell AJ was getting fidgety and so said it was fine and off we went.
Walking back up the hill after school the following day, Bart told me that loads of people had called her a boy because of her short hair.
“Well Bart,” I replied, “I would rather have a really cute hair cut like yours than be a sheep”
“Huh?” to say Bart looked confused was an understatement.
“When we see the sheep in the field and one starts running, what do the rest of them do?” I asked her
“They run too!”
“And if one sheep come through the gate into the field behind our house, what do the rest do?”
“Exactly! Now, nearly all of the little girls you know have either bobbed or long hair. They all follow each other, but not you. You have a lovely short hair cut.”
“Yeah. Hey AJ! I’m not a sheep!”
I looked behind at my older daughter, who was following us up the track and listening intently to our conversation. Her big brown eyes met mine and I winced as her shoulder length hair that she had been patiently growing long this past year, blew in the wind.