After my recent string of bad luck upon returning home from trips, I am happy to report that the other Amber and I flew home from LA late Sunday night and I have suffered no bodily harm since then.
Unless you count working out. Because I do.
I am happy to report that I’m staying the course with my New Plan. I’m also happy to report that I don’t even hate it at all. Not even %5. It’s been like a breath of fresh air. I am shocked to discover that I honestly kind of like it. I am currently on week 5 of my 12 week weight-lifting program and while I am finally becoming acclimated to the movements, I am far from comfortable. In fact I’m constantly sore. I’m told this is a good thing. My weight has stayed exactly the same, but I’ve lost 4 inches overall and my body composition is slowly changing. Baby steps to success.
While I have successfully avoided any physical calamity upon my Re-Entry into the atmosphere of normal life, I cannot tell you that nothing terrible has happened.
Because last night, about 3 minutes before we were supposed to walk out the door for our niece’s high school graduation (real cool timing), my 8-year-old daughter pulled me aside and with a quivering lip said, “I have something to tell you. Please don’t be mad! I’m super sorry!”
So obviously my mom radar was instantly on and up and making that “Bee-Doo! Bee-Doo!” minion sound as it often does.
Then she proceeded to remove her headband and show me an oddly placed, lopped off chunk of hair on the side of her head.
We’ll call them “bangs” because that was what she was going for, but I am here to tell you that these are no bangs. It’s more like a side-mullet.
What the freaking what.
I cannot even begin to understand the thought process behind my 8-year-old grabbing a pair of scissors, cutting off a chunk of hair, and assuming that it somehow would end well for her?! Her best friend had her hair cut short with bangs a couple of weeks ago (by a professional, mind you) so naturally it’s all I’ve heard about since then.
“Mom I reeeeeeally wants bangs! I need them! Please! Why not? Pleeeeeeease?”
I’ve repeatedly explained to her that curly hair is a whole different ball game than straight hair and that bangs are almost always instantly regretted anyways. She sensed this was not going to be a battle she’d win, so she took matters into her own hands. Literally.
When she showed me I gasped, then just stood dumbly staring at her “haircut” for a full minute, trying to process what had actually happened. She looked at me like a bunny caught in a trap. All wide eyes and fright and a touch of cuteness. I was so caught off guard I was clueless as to how to proceed. She burst into tears and launched herself at me. She seemed to be sufficiently sorry, not to mention mortified over her current appearance so I decided gentleness was in order.
“Bella, what were you thinking?” I managed to sound more sad than mad.
“I wanted bangs?” she eeked out.
I sighed and then gave her the spiel as I patted her back. I told her that she knew better than this, and that she is not a hairdresser, and she had no business wielding scissors on hairs, and that mostly I was disappointed that she would be so sneaky and reckless.
Suddenly she was full of “Yes ma’am’s” and “I’m sorry mommy’s”.
For the record, “Yes ma’am’s” only happen about 4 times a year around here, so I can’t lie: I relish them.
Then I told her that she was going to have to live with it until it grew out.
I know. I am the meanest mom. But I’d say the punishment fits the crime. In the 5 hours between “the haircut” and bedtime, she made roughly 27 trips to the bathroom to adjust her headband and fret over her newly awkward hairdo, because ironically enough, she is a kid who cannot bear to leave one hair out-of-place.
Unfortunately, it is upon further inspection that I have come to the conclusion that I can’t actually leave her hair like this. It’s just too ridiculous. So I will let her sweat it out for about a week, and then I’ll take her to a real hairdresser who can hopefully make some sense of this nonsense. The way I see it, she’ll either wind up with an unintentional mullet until she’s 9 or she’ll wind up getting her way and having real bangs.
Either way; Kids are jerks, man.