Since good leadership is all about delegation, Dick is in charge of putting the kids to bed. But Dick is a little bit soft-hearted (not to be confused with soft-headed, though they’re not exactly mutually exclusive, are they?). Which means he doesn’t enforce vegetables before dessert, and that he has always been morally opposed to locking the kids in their rooms. What if there’s a fire, he asks? What if they suffer irrepairable psychological harm from being locked in a (well-lit) (filled-with-books-and-toys) bedroom?
I don’t know Dick. What if their frustrated mother snaps the fifth time she hears “But I’m hungry” and starts pulling out toenails with a pair of rusty pliers?
Of course, being soft-hearted is not the worst quality in a man with three daughters. However, besides being a fine father, a delectable lover, my best friend, and something of a minor blogebrity in his technical writing niche, Dick is also a contender for the title of Mr. … Oblivious. I know, ladies. Your husband is probably a contender too. What man isn’t?
But let me tell you why Dick is in the finals this week.
On Sunday night I was whipped. I spoke in church that morning (post in the hopper, about ten down), and was tired and just not feeling very well (not pregnant, not yet). Dick put the kids down and was working on the computer upstairs in the loft outside their rooms while I read a book on the couch downstairs, and moaned occasionally.
We have always been very serious about bedtime and naptime, and our children know this. But whenever a new milestone hits, it seems we go through a couple weeks of reminding them just how serious we really are. Last week Spot learned how to climb out of her crib — at two and a half, she was the youngest to ever learn this most alarming skill. Before this, Susan had no incentive to leave her (well-lit) (filled-with-books-and-toys) bedroom because the only other free person, Sally, was invariably buried in a Trixie Belden book and completely uninterested in playing toys.
Spot, though. Ahh, Spot. She and Susan cannot get enough of each other during the day, what with the playing for twelve hours straight and the nonsensical screaming and the loving each other one minute and wanting to steal each other’s boyfriend on purpose the next. When I have discovered them playing together in Susan’s room after she has goaded Spot into escaping her crib, the wailing as I tear Spot from the bosom of her loving sister languishing from the consumption would make Louisa May Alcott swoon.
So on Sunday night, I yelled up a few times, helpfully, that Dick should lock the girls in their rooms. He declined. They all fell asleep eventually, and so did Dick. I dragged myself upstairs and stopped short at the sight of several brown curls lying on the floor of the master bathroom. And were those … straight blondish-red strands on the tiles?
Yes, yes they were — not to be confused, of course, with the short brown clippings in the sink from my latest go at my do-it-yourself ‘do. Just as a reminder, here is how my girls looked before the Great Hair Butchering of ’09:
A great abundance of hair does not run in our family. We have been growing out Spot’s bangs for a year now, and she and Susan are both blessed to have much more hair than Sally did at those ages. Susan’s even has some body for Medusa’s sake. But while we may never look this good, things could always be worse. Right?
Right:
Susan says that Spot just kept cutting more and more and more. “She doesn’t want to grow her bangs out anymore, Mommy,” says Susan. And Susan, who the day before chose to grow her bangs out (meaning she has to wear pigtails for a year) over getting them cut again, chose to grow them out, so she merely cut the side of her hair:
The moral of the story is, of course: Never trust a Sicilian when death is on the line. Also, lock up your scissors, lock up your wife, lock up your daughters and run for your life.
I trimmed their hair up a bit, but maybe I should’ve just left it long with the bald patches:
It’s amazing how little kids can get a horse’s butt of a haircut and still be criminally adorable. I’d have to shave Spot’s hair with a number 2 guard to get it even. I might still do that. Because I am the m-0-m.
Susan has a pixie face and didn’t scalp herself, so she’s still cute. Just more pixie-ish, and her scar is visible, but I think that lends an air of mystery, don’t you?
I didn’t, because I couldn’t, get mad at the girls. Besides the fact that a bad hair month (or five) doesn’t compete with real tragedy, I have shaved my own head once or twice, and not at the innocent age of two-and-a-half or four-and-a-half.
I was too mean to Dick about this. I’m sorry, Dick. (I’m glad you’ve come around on the locking-them-in-their-bedrooms issue.)
As much as I love Susan and Spot’s basic innocence, I love when my daughters conspire together. I hope they never think of sneaking out together to borrow the car, because it might be hard to work up the necessary ire, so long as they are intending to go somewhere together. I also love that they are completely oblivious to any alteration in their looks. They think they are still beautiful, and they spend no time in front of the mirror. How do they know they’re still beautiful if they don’t spend any time in front of the mirror?
Finally, I cannot get mad at Spot for anything right now, because she is potty-trained. Here is what I know about potty-training after three kids: A) Wait till the kid is ready and excited about it. B) Find out what they want and give it to them as a reward. C) Go overboard on the praise; skip the criticism. For Spot it took princess panties and gumballs.
And sisters who are as maniacally enthusiastic about her new trick as I am:
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That pantie picture is priceless!! Although my kids have never tried cutting their own hair, Max insists on trimming his own fingernails (at 3) and does a pretty good job of it. I have to say, I love it when my kids team up together. That is the whole point of having siblings isn’t it? An automatic team player? Somebody who is willing to help you. I love it when I catch Lucy getting Max a glass of water, or calming his fears, or putting a princess dress on him. It makes me hopeful that even though they aren’t same sex siblings that maybe they will still be close when they grow up.
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Jane Reply:
May 21st, 2009 at 2:56 pm
I’m sure they will be.
My mom is making a family history quilt where she folk-embroiders our little sayings. One of the panels is a reproduction of a drawing/story I did when I was about 9ish. Something like “We’re playing dress-up. I’m the queen, Marcy is the princess, and Brad is the dog.” So I guess my mom liked those times of cooperative play, too!
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Oh man…
I can’t tell you how many times we’ve had to talk to our girls about cutting their own hair. Our 3 year old and our (almost) 7 year old have both gotten in trouble for it in the last few weeks.
Fortunately they have never gone quite this far.
It’s funny because it’s not my kids. I don’t think I would’ve been unable to work up any anger over this. I can get grumpy over pretty much anything.
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Jane Reply:
May 21st, 2009 at 2:56 pm
Yeah, me too. I am just trying a bit harder (right this minute
to not get mad over “little” things.
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Jared Reply:
May 21st, 2009 at 3:13 pm
Just so you know, I wasn’t being critical. I hate that I get so irritable about stuff like this. I admire people who seem to have figured out the not sweating the small stuff thing.
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I do not think I have had a child not cut their own (or a siblings’) hair. A couple have done it more than once. I just count myself lucky that none of them have used our hair razor. Oh, shoot, I think I may have just jinxed myself.
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Jane Reply:
May 21st, 2009 at 2:57 pm
Sally tried to shave her legs once; luckily I caught her before there was too much blood …
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Melinda and I (and Craig) were laughing very hard at the pictures. You should just go ahead and complete the buzz-cut. Make it a TRULY memorable story for them. It would make it a story for the ages. It would be one of those stories that you would tell their kids, because buzzing their head would push it over the edge from a dime-a-dozen “my-kid-cut-their-own-hair” story to “it-was-so-bad-that-we-buzzed-your-head-and-it-took-a-year-to-grow-back”. just think about it.
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Jane Reply:
May 21st, 2009 at 2:58 pm
You inspired me. I used the number 8 guard and buzzed Spot’s this morning. It’s even cuter. We’re calling her “Spike” now.
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Oh man, what a great post. Love your girls and love their adventure-seeking side, especially in pairs. But oh, I would have been smoking mad. At my husband, and the girls. I mean, come on, 4 1/2 is old enough to know better. But that Susan sure does look like a cute pixie. So glad to have boys that I can buzz-cut anytime. And no hair brushing drama.
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Jane Reply:
May 21st, 2009 at 2:59 pm
Spike looks great with her new buzz-cut (see above). I just hope no one asks me “How old is he?” She still looks feminine to me, but then I’m terribly biased, of course.
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This makes me feel SO MUCH BETTER about my destructive boys.
So much.
Thank you.
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I laughed until I cried! Oh!
Great photos, tho. I really really like the short pixie cut on little girls, but Cora’s doing the “I’m growing my hair down to my ANKLES” thing right now.
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Jane Reply:
May 21st, 2009 at 3:00 pm
If/when she gets tired of it, you could ask Cora if she’s interested in doing the Locks of Love or something. I think that would be so awesome, a great way for a kid to practice compassion!
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Adorable. I love how close they are.
When my daughter cut her hair (just on one side, so she had a lopsided mullet for months) she carefully placed it all in a baggy for me. Sweet.
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that was really funny. my daughter cut her hair twice now. at least i’m not trying to arrange a marriage for her…
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What a fabulous post, Jane! I am particularly relating to the “frustrated mother snaps the fifth time she hears “But I’m hungry” and starts pulling out toenails with a pair of rusty pliers?” line at this point in time. And they are still adorable.
Oh, but did I mention that I am flippin jealous?! Winnie started climbing out of his crib a few weeks ago and now Ziggy has followed suit, WAY too early for me. Today when they were supposed to be napping I heard a scream and went in to find that Winnie had pulled a wooden bar off of the changing table and was hitting his brother in the head with it. And Spot is potty trained at 2 1/2???!!!!! I am so jealous I can’t stand it. That’s it….where’s my rusty old pliers? Oh, I’ve got new ones on my new pocket knife right here in my pocket……..
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All I can say is cheer up – They will be teenagers before you know it.
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They look like a couple of little fairy imps – they just need little wings to finish them.
What a story, and what a good thing you’ve done in writing it all down for them to have when they’re older. It will be interesting to hear this memory from them when they can fully articulate it. I’m sure it all makes perfect sense to them.
And can I flush *green* with envy at the fact that 2.5 years is young for crib-climbing in your wee clan? Egads – you are lucky! None of mine stayed in the crib past two, and my oldest was playing SuperGirl {jumping} from the rail at 18 months.
Love the new title and header – change is always good.
Best to you.
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That is so tragic and cute at the same time!
It might make you feel better to know that in China (or so I’ve been told – I guess I probably should look it up sometime) they shave their babies heads to make the hair grow in faster and fuller. Maybe it will work for them.
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