The Girly

For about a month now, my girl has been begging to get her hair cut. I sort of hoped she’d forget about it because I was in LOVE with her long hair, but she wouldn’t let it go.
“Did you call Julie, Mom?”
“Did you call Julie, Mom?”
“Did you call Julie, Mom?”

She asked and asked and asked. Julie, it must be known if not already inferred, is our family hair lady. We love Julie.
Julie has dum-dums.

We finally set up an appointment, and Lacy eagerly awaited the day. The morning of, I wrapped my arms around her and said, “Guess what today is?”
“HAIR DAY!” I squealed.
“I DON’T WANT TO GET MY HAIR CUT!” She wailed back.

I talked her down, telling her that Julie would never do anything that Lacy wouldn’t like.
“Just sit in her special chair and tell her exactly what you want,” I said.
“Okay,” she replied.
Also: I promised her ice cream when the hair dressing was done.

Once there, Lacy sat in the chair.
“Tell Julie what you want,” I coaxed her.
“I just don’t know all the words to say it,” she shyly replied.

So here’s what we came up with:

I took a bunch of pictures in the salon, but my phone won’t email them to me (selfish, selfish).

I do miss her long hair, but she got what she asked for and she’s mostly happy. The night after it was cut, she did confess that she wanted to “turn it back” but it’s since grown on her. She feels like a big girl with a big girl haircut.

On Monday, I was running through my cleaning routine. After getting the house mostly clean (vacuumed, mopped, all that), I set to getting my one big project done. For this Monday, I decided to clean out the fridge. The boy was napping. The girl was playing outside.
It was perfect timing.
I cleaned half of the fridge and took the trash out before finishing to avoid a huge triple-bagging fiasco.
You know what I’m talking about, right? That huge, ugly bag of trash at the end of fridge cleaning that you have to bag at least three times… please tell me I’m not the only one.

As I walked out of the door and tossed the trash into the plastic trash bins, Lacy ran to my side.
“Mom, can you play outside with me?”
“I would love to, sweetie. Really, I would. But I have to finish cleaning out the fridge.”
“But Mom! We could pick up leaves… and look at clouds…”
“Okay, let me hurry and finish the fridge.”
“Thanks, Mom.”

And I went back in the house to finish furiously dumping food out of my fridge. I didn’t bother wiping it clean on account of my cloud-watching date, but my daughter did manage to put herself right outside my window.
“MOM!” She called, “ARE YOU HURRYING?!”
“YES!” I called back.

My girl has always held the outdoors in high esteem… even when she was a colicky baby, screaming in my arms, she would quiet right down the minute I took her outside and let the sunshine stream all over her red little face.

Enjoying it with her will ALWAYS take precedence over a perfectly clean fridge. It’s mold free, okay? That’s as good as it’s going to get for now.

Speak Your Mind