Haircut

I cut Hub's hair, and have for a decade.  I cut Elsie's hair, too, and have fashioned it in to an adorable bob for the last few years.  It requires a certain amount of care, mainly braid or side-ponytail, to avoid masking her vision and sopping up half of her lunch.

I really dreaded it when Elsie decided that she wanted to grow her hair down her back so that we could do braids just like "Elsa in the movie Frozen."  (Which is how she always refers to Elsa.)  I don't care for Elsie's and my own texture hair at long length, and I don't want any part of combing out those snarls.  But I relented.  It is a household rule and a core family value for us: Elsie gets to choose for her own body.  

This morning, I asked Elsie what kind of braid she wanted.   She testily responded that she did not want any braid at all.  Nor did she want a ponytail.  Nor would she tolerate any more barrettes.

"But Elsie, you have to wear your hair back or it will get in your face."  

"You could cut it so that it didn't get in my face."  She said.  "I want a haircut."

Plot twist!  I counseled her on this choice.  Hair grows very slowly.  Braids will be out of the question.  Do you want it short like mine?  Yes, yes, and yes again.

Lately, I've heard a great many stories in which girls of 3 or 4 ask for a haircut "like daddy's."  In every case but one, my mom friends have refused.  As a short-haired woman, this burns a little. There are plenty of people in our culture who hate short hair on women outright.  Maybe even a majority.  But these young girls obviously don't hate it.  Why shouldn't they be allowed short hair?  I love having my hair short.  I feel most beautiful when my hair is short.  Really short.  It took me by surprise, then, when a pang of reluctance shot up me at the prospect of cutting off Elsie's hair.  I hate to part with Elsie's bob.  I love that haircut.  But Elsie's body, Elsie's choice.  Chop chop.

We watch nature documentaries for haircuts.  It's about the only genre of DVD in our collection, and it gives me a solid 50 minutes of still head.  Today it was insects, and the relationships they build with other species.

I did my best, but it wasn't good enough, so I called my hairdresser.  She took us on emergency appointment and finished the job.  She was impressed, she said -- but still managed to make it look a lot nicer.  Perhaps she had expected something dramatically horrible and not just mediocre.  I couldn't figure out the thinning.  I wasn't comfortable wielding a straight razor near my daughter's head.  Leave that to the professionals.  Here is the result!  A collaborative effort and a very sweet little pixie.