Thursday, August 8, 2013

haircuts are the devil

Do any of you have experience with... like, your daughters cutting off all of their hair?
A week before Kindergarten starts?
After over a year of trying to grow it out, after you, yourself, cut off too much a summer ago when it was FINALLY getting long?
Two wrongs do not make a right.  I am sick right now.

This was taken just hours ago :( :(


Now I know that it is JUST HAIR.  HAIR.  Hair grows and grows and just grows some more.  Growing is its only job.  But for my Roo, growing is something it has had a hard time doing.

Until this past year.  2013 was a good year for Roo's hair.  It has gotten down to right past her shoulders.  It does little tricks in the form of waves and flips.  For no reason at all, the underside always parades about her shoulders in straight-up ringlets.  It is golden and glisteny and has framed her little fine-featured face in the prettiest way.  It has made her look so sweet and grown-up-ish, for a five year old.  I have been loving it silently so as not to appear all braggy and stuff.  When it's first brushed, it's all poofy and soft and even longer looking.  And now it's gone.

And I'm crying like we've lost limbs or something.




This evening I was getting the kids and Dad a picnic packed so that they could all go fishing as soon as he got home from work.  Roo came into the kitchen several times talking about getting a haircut all of a sudden.  Telling me how short, and that she wanted it cut like her friend Cooper's.  Well, Cooper cut her own hair off, right at the top, like bangs that start at the back of her head.  It was not cool for her mother and they're still recovering.  I should have known her curiosity was piqued when she brought it up so much tonight.  I told her we'd do haircuts after school starts, and it will be so fun.  I also told her it would be fun to keep it long.  What I should have said is that under no circumstances should she lay a finger on a pair of scissors for the next three years of her life, or ELSE.  I should have known she would want to try it herself, but was so absorbed in getting that stupid dinner packed for them before Nick got home that I blew it off.


Funny thing is, that today I have been trying really hard not to get so caught up in my own stuff.  Reminding myself a lot that I DO have time to come see what they have growing in their "aquarium" (a bucket outside that is growing algae and is also a super fascinating under-the-sea mini habitat.) or to help them dig the makings of a volcano in the sandbox.  I didn't stop much to do that stuff and tried hard to tackle the necessary housekeeping during nap (didn't get far) so that I could spend more time paying attention.  I'm bad about it lately.  So much to do.  and I know what you're going to say... "The housework can wait!"  Well it has waited and waited and now it's just plain gross and I don't know where anything is and stuff needs mending and I'm resorting to plasticware because my dishes are disgusting piles of nasty all over my sink and counters and I don't know what's hiding in the dog hair fluffballs under the furniture and in the corners.  I'm pretty sure I've walked into the house a hundred times in the same shoes I just cleaned out the chicken coop in, and that might be dried milk on the floor under the table.  Which table?  The dining table AND the coffee table.  Gross.  And now...  Yeah.  Lesson learned, Whomever Needed Me to Learn That Lesson.  Lesson learned.

Yes she's kissing a cicada, but ignore that for a second and look at the hair that is now gone.  I wasn't ready for this.

So Mister got home, whisked the kids away, and I spent the next three hours deep (a debatable adjective I know...) cleaning a few rooms that have been seriously neglected since I LAST deep cleaned them about three weeks ago, for a whole week, another time when I should have been building volcanoes and scooping algae instead. But I'm not going to gripe and complain that I don't have enough help in the evenings when we could spend 20 or thirty minutes together a night, tidying up or sweeping a floor or loading the dishwasher.  Nope, because I'm happy to do all that while I'm also keeping children alive and supporting emotional and brain development.  While balancing on my head.  I would feel horribly if anyone else around here saw a mess on the floor and picked it up, or even put leftovers away after the dinner I cooked from the groceries I bought, and served on the dishes I washed, was all eaten up and left to spoil on the counter overnight if I wasn't around.   I won't whine about the fact that I was gone five days with the kids, leaving Mr. Boree here to maybe lift a finger or two uninterrupted, but supported him instead in his vegging on the couch and fishing several times.  Not at all upset at the state of the house when we got home after 20 hours in the car alone with my kids... nope, not a problem.  I would have hated if he could have done the dishes even ONCE, or fixed the broken sink, or put in new shower handles or something.  The knee-high weeds are really lovely in the backyard, really.  Nope, if I didn't have SO much mundane busy work to catch up on during the week of daytime hours, I would have countless more minutes to donate to the little blonde heads that beg me to play with them as I insist it'll be just another minute, I promise.

I think that's why I burst tonight.  I exploded a little.  But like, ALL OVER my freshly cleaned slate of a house.
I had power cleaned for three quiet hours, rejoicing the fact that I would have to do nothing of the sort tomorrow and we would play all day on our own time.  I thought about what we would do, starting with a playdate with friends we haven't seen in a month.  I went upstairs to dump the bathroom trash, and what did I find.  A MESS OF GOLDEN LOCKS.  My brain went numb, and then I thought, "Did Mister cut Knox's hair???!"  He's always threatening to, jokingly I think.  But why would he, he was in a mad rush to get fishing while I was in a mad rush to pack their picnic dinner.



TULAH.  TULAH ROO.
Her little voice echoes to me..."Mommy I would just get a haircut JUST like Cooper's, just like she cut hers." and my voice, "Umm hmm let's get a haircut after school starts honey... Do you need to grab a jacket for fishing?  Do you want a water bottle and bananas packed?" and how I should have known.  She'd find a quick second to cut her hair like Cooper's. Not Cooper's style... Cooper's technique.  Just grab some shears and go to town.

I called Mister, who was almost home from fishing.  "Did Tulah cut her hair??????"  Him:  "How should I know, what do you mean?"
Me:  "There's hair in the garbage!!  Like 6" of golden hair!  Did you look at her tonight while you were fishing and notice her hair was funky and HALF MISSING???"
him:  "No but we're almost home, I don't know, she won't answer me."  Of COURSE you didn't notice.  Great.

I was bawling when they got home.  Then Tulah started crying, which was one part me bawling, one part Daddy kept them out like WAY too late, and five parts SHE CUT HER HAIR OFF.  I told her she was in big trouble (I don't know why I said that, I don't threaten and what would I possibly do to punish this??!!!  I was just upset and talking crazy.)

In a wild mess of kids dumping their sand-filled shoes ALL OVER my freshly cleaned/scrubbed/mopped floors and jackets and tears flying all over the place, I lost it and removed myself from the bedtime routine.  I had control over nothing.  So many thoughts and intentions throughout the day, dancing through my head on keeping focus on THEM and not stupid tasks that need attention, places to be, errands to run, so many calls to make... How to ask Mister if he could help out just a teeny sprinkle of a smidge once or twice a week... Business ideas for me (yeah right that's happening.) and plans to help with the horses, other things crowding my mind and the energy it takes sometimes to connect with what's important and focusing on awesome stuff and stuff.  My brain is crazy sometimes and I feel a lot like I'm sorting through it physically, and alone.  Which makes me emotional.  And then I crack.  Like tonight.

I know I'm not crying only over beautiful wisps and locks of golden strands in the garbage.  Self-inflicted wounds to the hair.  I'm not only mourning the fact that I'd pictured her already in her first school picture, her KINDERGARTEN photo with her hair long and full and curled special for that day.  The year or more it took to get this loveliness to where it is.  I'm just sad about all of it.  The busy-ness of the week, one of her last weeks home with me all day.  The intentions I had committed to myself and even to my children OUT LOUD today to be so attentive and available to them right NOW, not in ten minutes.  The steering of my thoughts in a direction of what the daddy of the house DOES do (and he does a lot!!!!), figuring out what I could do better/faster so that I don't have to bug him for help.  Trying to remember that he can't read my mind, but feeling like, 'dang it, I WANT him to!!'.  (And ps:  Sorry Husband, but telling me I need to 'get a grip' tonight during the debacle has now made you Ginny Enemy Number 1, a close tie with those daggone blunt-tipped Fiskars that wreaked carnage all over my girl's head.)  Getting over how horrible the house and yard has felt all week since we got back, and not having the time to get it in order alone.  And now my daughter's hard-working hair is gone, and her school career is about to start, and I can't stop crying about every bit of it all as the hours creep into a.m. territory while I type.  Surely staying up this late will make EVERYTHING feel better in the morning.  I certainly do not need my sleep, no siree.


“Those who do not weep, do not see.” ― Victor Hugo, Les Mis
I have some incredible vision tonight, you guys.




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