I cut Nicole’s hair myself today. It was a blizzard – did I not mention that earlier? We had a blizzard. True story. Anyways, Chris and I took her to the rather empty mall and we were going to get her hair cut. Well, she took one look at those hairdressing chairs and decided no way. Panic attack.
So we took her to a toy store and said she could pick a present, and she picked a giant ball. Then I told her she could have it if she would first get her hair cut.
Well, wouldn’t you know it, she put that ball right back in the bin and that was that. Not interested. Neither ball nor babydoll nor My Little Pony could bribe this child to agree to go back to the hairdresser.
So I cut it myself at home. I’m not 100% happy with it, but at least now when I see a picture of her with her hair down I won’t cringe. It looks a little thicker now, and less ratty. I might see if I can get a hairdresser friend to come and polish it up a little, or I might just make her bangs more blunt so they don’t slowly blend into the rest of her hair.
Regardless, it is better now than before, and for free, and I have a newfound respect for my two year old and her unshakeable standards. This one cannot be bought. Unless it involves potty training, then she can be bought… She got bored of peeing on the toilet and had accidents galore. (And by galore I mean, accidents only, no peeing on the toilet, only number 2. There is even a story in here that involves a friend inquiring about my sinkful of soaking oranges only to discover they were being washed because Nicole had PEED ON THE WHOLE BOX OF ORANGES.) So, we implemented a sticker chart with rewards when she fills a column, and tadaa, magically she remembered how to go on the toilet. Psychological warfare it is, with this one. Problem is, I think she might be winning.