Great Hair Day

Andy mentioned Scout's hair a while back. She had been quiet for a while, didn't answer when I called her so I knew something was up. I found her at the end of the driveway working on her "fringe" with the little scissors. It was still very salvageable, but when I asked why she was snipping, she said, "I want to be dry."

"Like, bald?"

"Yes, bald."

It felt kind of dangerous and risky, like I might get caught breaking some big parenting rule or like I was revealing a secret of adulthood. It felt like I was passing down a rite of independent womanhood, of secret self-knowledge, of confident empowerment. I let her keep the scissors and keep working on her project.

This morning, I overheard Scout retelling the story to some visitors who hadn't seen her in a while. She finished her haircut story with, "And my mama said, 'Go for it!'"

Please, daughter, will you remember this for the next five, ten, and fifteen years?









(Break for toe inspection.)






(It feels so weird to hold a hank of hair unattached to your head!)




(Haircutting--hard to stop once you start.)






(She's willing to share her talent.)


(And how fun is it to show a new haircut to your friends?)




(She really did do it all, except for two snips in the back, "by her own". Brava!)

Angels delivering angels

A happy birth story. (One of my own!) Can you hear too many of them? Nope. They're good for something deep and real inside you.

Go ahead. Read it here. (Turn to page 10, folks.)



(Still want more? Read my first take on the whole concept here (or here).)