Last night I convinced Rachel to let me cut her hair. She hasn’t wanted me to, insisting that she likes it long, but I just couldn’t take it any more. Every morning I have to fight her to let me brush her hair, to let me fix her hair. I have to fight her to let me shampoo her hair, rinse her hair, condition her hair, rinse her hair…
We battle over hair too many times a day.
So last night when I was trying to wash her hair and she was trying to not let me wash her hair I said, “Rachel, can I just cut your hair?”
“Okay,” she said, “But not as short as Daddy’s.”
“No, not as short as Daddy’s. Is that what you’ve been worried about all this time?”
“Yes. I don’t want hair like Daddy’s.”
“Well, I won’t cut your hair as short as Daddy’s.”
“Okay! I want hair like Kathleen!” she squealed.
And that sealed the deal.
After she got out of the tub and I got Miriam into bed I cut Rachel’s hair.
She was satisfied with the results and this morning when I brushed her hair it only took like three or four strokes (and there was no screaming, either)!