By the end of the month, my girls look shaggy. Not shabby, mind you. Just a bit more unkempt. That one spot that always gets a tangle every.single.day. remains tangled. Hair is in their eyes. Bothering them. And unknowingly bothering me too.
And shaggy is all good. I'm into it...to a degree. But what I've found in the past few years is that shaggy sometimes means less connection from me.
When I can't see the shimmer in those eyes, I don't feel that same magic. My focus is more short-winded. Sometimes my patience feels shorter too. What I mean to say is, the love is there, but somehow whenever I get myself to pull out the stool, scissors, the beat-up old towel and a comb--ta-dah! Twinkling baby eyes reappear and I feel like I'll falling in love all over again. Falling in love with my babies. Well, with my now-girls-seems-like-just-yesterday-babies. And they're faces, all clear of straggy bangs, seem fresh and new again.
And I think, why do I always dread these haircuts? (And I know that answer too. Trimming the hair of this wiggly, persistent 3-year-old is daunting. Each snip and I wonder what I've just done.) But alas, both girls seem to have forgiving hair...at this stage of life.
Just curious, but to others cut their own kids hair? I know my mom cut ours as kids. My husband cuts his own with clippers. And I...well, I stink at cutting my own. But sometimes I let my husband trim my hair when I'm not in the hair-style stage of living.
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