Playing with Scissors

My mom calls it a childhood rite of passage. But that still doesn't make me happy about Grace's self-inflicted haircut. I came home from the grocery store to find that my siblings had put Grace down for a nap in the present-wrapping room with scissors in plain sight on the floor. Genius. I can't wait until they have kids. Anyway, it wasn't five minutes before she had done this:

I nearly cried. I guess it's mostly my fault, though, considering that I kept telling her we were going to get her hair cut. I'm sure her little two-year-old brain believed she was helping me out.

I couldn't bear the thought of giving her a boy's mushroom cut, so this is what I had the hairdresser do:

As long as I can get her hair "trained" to part on the other side to cover up the hack job, all will be well.

After this stressful episode, I realized that if Grace does something as a teenager to cause me real worry, I might not make it.