The other night, while I was at Little Red’s choir practice, a picture text from Mister appeared on my phone with the word “busted” under the photo. At first, I was confused and was wondering if our new canine, Lottie, had attacked one of the kids’ stuffed animals. Then, upon further inspection, the truth hit me; I saw the tool of destruction near the faux fluff of the stuffed animal.
*bad choice
*Little Stinker Edward Scissorhands
In Little Man’s defense, what child doesn’t cut up something when he/she is young? I remember taking scissors to the top of my head and cutting off a silver dollar amount of hair. My timing was awesome. I did this right before family from France was coming over (literally flying over the Atlantic) for a visit. I was in second grade, remember the exact outfit I was wearing (an adorable blouse and skirt my mom had sewn for me) and remember having to get up from the table in 5 minute increments to wet down my awesome mini buzz cut that would stick up. Gotta love the West’s arid air for that speedy drying thing. In this instance, it was so not handy. Anyway, I kinda resembled photos of past of the Crow tribe, the American Indians that lived in the Great Plains region. While their look was cultural or symbolic, mine was pure stupidity. Yeah, I definitely wasn’t putting myself out there as a candidate for the school GT (gifted & talented) program or a future Vidal Sassoon scholar.
Almost every year when teaching, I had a student that decided their hair needed a trim. Most of the time, these kids were firing more neurons than I was as a child and chose to cut the ends of their hair. Once or twice, a student went to town on his/her bangs. Still, a much better choice than the top of the head. With the latter, you know as an adult, that the child with the closely cropped bangs was experimenting with scissors when everything went downhill. Okay. With the bad placement of my extreme trim? One wondered if I was the victim of a lice couple or an interpretive mullet.
Back to Little Man. Mister and I talked to him about the stuffed animal trim and man, is this kid smooth. He immediately offered to clean it up with the hand vacuum. Well, isn’t he a real Christian. Little Man was apologetic and profusely agreed to only cut paper. Yeah. We’ll see. He is a little guy and little ones tend to be precocious. As George Costanza’s dad would yell, “Serenity now!” Serenity now!
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