Yesterday, I heard Amelie’s footsteps pattering upstairs – where she isn’t supposed to be. I poked my head out of the kitchen when she came down. And my countenance fell.
She’s done it again.
She’s chopped off all of her bangs, right to the top of the forehead. With some side pieces for good measure. (But, she later informed me, in a consoling tone of voice, I didn’t cut ANY at the back.)
I cried. I couldn’t help it.
Most superficially, I cried because it’s taken, what, four or five months to grow it out from the first major chop. And just in the last two weeks I had trimmed it into a little bob, so cute, with short little 1950s bangs. And she looked so darling. And not … asymmetrical.
But beyond that, as I wailed to Devo when he came to pat me (after administering the requisite lecture and soul-stirring discussion that Mommy funked), IIIIIII FAAAAAAILED.
All week we’ve (I’ve) been working and working and struggling and struggling to get everything put away and locked away so that we could easily manage our toy (mess) situation. And I’ve been working and working and struggling and struggling to get household routines (like meals) straightened out into an easy, manageable flow. But all Amelie did last week was trot from one forbidden thing to another, leaving messes (and motherly insanity) in her wake. She wasn’t being defiantly naughty, more flowing with a happy wandering spirit. But that meant that I spent my week basically following behind her, always one step behind, never quite catching up.
Always one step behind.
We should have taken those family photos on Sabbath when Shelley offered to take them.
I don’t cry now when I look at her. But I haven’t yet found the equanimity I was granted with the earlier episode of Hair Hacking.
Devo calls her “Curtains”. Because her bangs look like curtains that have been pulled back. She laughs, but she doesn’t really know why he calls her that.
And there are no pictures. I just can’t bring myself to do it yet.
In other, related news, I bought bungee cords today and secured the gate and the door to the forbidden items. A day too late. But better late than never, I always say.