I've had the misfortune to experience the home haircut myself on occasion, some of which are experiences I remember vividly, others are only captured by photos with bent corners, ALL of which leave me completely aghast. There's one photo in particular taken by the professionals at Olan Mills, who I can only guess were laughing hysterically beneath the black curtain of the massive camera, of me and my brother sporting the home haircut with STYLE. He, with choppy strands dancing unevenly around his brow, and I, with somewhat of a mullet--but curled and feathered!-- sitting in an awkwardly posed position around a log. Yep, that was us. Our cuts set off nicely against our photo worthy attire. I donned a peach lacy sleeved, high neck polyester dress, and he was dressed in a baby blue polyester leisure suit. No, now that I think about it, the folks at Olan Mills probably weren't laughing; they were probably just sad for us.
I'd like to think I did a better job with Ella, but that's just not true. Not really. I had decided to cut bangs (or fringe, as my husband calls it) to help cover her newly formed scar. The gash on her forehead from her tumble and fall with Ethan has left a pink scar in the center of her forehead. I want to keep as much sunlight off of it as possible in hopes of minimizing it, so I thought bangs would be a good option. I talked to her about it and showed her a couple of pictures, and we both decided that we'd give it a try.
I wet her hair, combed it out, and took my manicure scissors to her strands. I had planned to cut just at her eyebrows, but when I was cutting, she tilted her head to look up at the scissors. Not good. The first cut ended up well above her eyebrow line, and so I had to follow with the often much hated too short bang cut. It's hair, it will grow, right? And bangs grow fast, right?
I smiled at Ella as I finished with the last snip and said, "Okay, I think that's it." She looked up at me and sweetly asked, "Am I still Ella?" "Of course!" I said as I hoisted her up to have a look in the mirror. She smiled brightly at herself and was... excited! She ran downstairs to show Vern, and I thought Whew, I'm so glad she likes it. That could have gone either way. It doesn't look that bad, but the whole point was to cover the scar, which is now only framed by her blonde locks. And of course, as luck would have it, her school picture day is tomorrow. We'll have a professionally shot keepsake of the mommy haircut mistake. Damnit. I don't know what I was thinking. Well, I guess she can add it to her list of things to talk to her therapist about when she's 30. Or blog about when she's in her late thirties. All I can do is dress her in a breathable cotton, keep her away from curlers, and request they not use any log props. There, baby. Mommy did you a solid.