Monday, September 7, 2009

Daughter, Interrupted

So, in my defence, she did not do it all at once, or I'm sure I would have noticed sooner.
Step 1: daughter brings innocent looking dust bunny hair tangle, and says she has no idea how it got in her room, but can she stick it to something? I dutifully got paper and tape. She made a nice illustration, and then taped hair tangle to it.
Step 2: Only realized in hindsight. Daughter sidles up to me in kitchen, and smiles. I give her a hug. She grins and I think: she looks like she's getting away with something...
Step 3-6: Daughter pops in and out as I'm reading in bed (hey, it's a holiday weekend). I guess I don't look up much.
Step 7: I make eye contact and something is... radically different. I sit bolt upright and ask if she has cut her hair. She makes eye contact and says absolutely not.
Step 8: I examine her head. She is missing most of the hair on both sides of her face, round to the ears, and her bangs are non-existent. There is a tuft or two on top of her head, as well. The rest remains long which, by the way, is how she says she wanted it. Despite all evidence to the contrary, and several opportunities to come clean, daughter remains adamant: she did not cut her hair.
Step 9: I grab the phone and force the woman who answers to let us come straight in, even though the salon has already closed. (I know I was just reading in bed. It is a holiday weekend. By the way: No Talking, by Andrew Clements, is a neat book.)
Step 10: Daughter, now sullen and non-communicative, is dragged to the salon. Woman who answers the phone actually cannot cut hair, as we discovered in hindsight. She is the receptionist. She does try, but now we have to go somewhere else today to finish the job.
Step 11-13: Punishments. Daughter loses pocket money to pay for hair cut. The lying is highlighted as the part we disagree with the most. She is upset at loss of playdate with best friend. She is suitably devastated, in fact. I feel many pangs. She slowly recovers.
Step 14: Daughter lies about something unrelated, an hour later. I realize we have a repeat offender.
Step 15: We swing by different hair salon yesterday, since they are open and ours is not. They make her an appointment for today. Daughter is defiant, until son points out the tufts on top of her head. She slumps in a chair, smooths her dress with her bicycle gloves, and says: "I look crazy." I think we're making some progress. I struggle mightily with trying to communicate less about the hair, more about the lying. (And how did she think a trash bin full of her own hair would back her up?!)
Step 16: Daughter claims: I wanted to look like you. Which is either heart breaking or the best lie yet. Or maybe I look like a crazy person too?

1 comment:

  1. Oh, the ending is killer. Adorable and heart-tugging.

    Methinks you've entered the I Am My Own Person phase of daughterness...