Brantley and Grayson have been after me for a few weeks about getting their hair cut. They both have extremely thick hair, and brushing the nests of knots out of their hair each morning is a chore that none of us enjoy. So they have been lobbying for new short haircuts, and honestly, I was all for it. I love getting a fresh, short cut every once in a while too (and actually, it’s been a long while, and I’m starting to get the itch again), and love that the girls are willing to take a bit of a risk and try something new! So we went yesterday after school, and the results were just precious.
Every time these sweet little girls get a good haircut, it reminds me of a night, almost exactly five years ago now, that the news of a new haircut was not nearly as welcome. If you’ve known me for several years, you’ve probably seen this post before. But if we’ve only been friends a short time, then welcome to this little dandy of a memory that I like to call “Scissorgate,” and that I feel that it’s my duty to repost every few years. Consider it a public service announcement, and take it to heart, so you won’t make the same mistakes I made. Thankfully, five years later, I can laugh at it. But at the time, I promise, I really did cry.
Last night will go down in Luton family history.
Last night will live in infamy.
I’m sure years from now, we will laugh for hours about last night.
But not yet.
My girls are very resourceful. And very mischevious. And they are very quiet when they are sleeping. They are also very quiet when they are getting into trouble.
When Brantley’s bangs get past her eyebrows, I usually give them a trim in between haircuts. I keep the scissors in the top drawer of the dresser in their room. Eye level with me. Well out of reach of little hands.
Or so I thought.
I was upstairs sewing, and Scott yelled my name from downstairs. Evidently, the girls had been making a fuss (nothing at all unusual), and he went in to check on them. So I came down, and he led me into their bedroom. First I saw Grayson.
I started laughing.
Then I saw Brantley.
And I started crying.
They cut their hair.
And it’s baaaaaaaaaad.
They were both so proud and thought it was hilarious. The girls had moved the bench from their vanity over to the dresser, hopped up on it, started opening drawers and saw the scissors. Thought it would be a good idea to try their luck as hair stylists.
Now don’t get me wrong, this could’ve turned out a lot worse. There was no blood, all fingers and ears are accounted for, and the girls are fine. And honestly I feel horrible, like the worst mother in the world, that they were able to get out the scissors and truly put themselves in danger. Yes, I am certainly mourning the unexpected loss of my girls beautiful hair. But I really feel terribly guilty.
Plus, I have absolutely NO IDEA how they are going to fix the hack job Brantley did on hers and Grayson’s hair, when we go to the salon FIRST THING.
I am thankful we don’t have any family pictures planned for a few months, and that Christmas is over. I am also thankful that both girls have thick, dark beautiful hair that grows very quickly.
Because it’s gonna look rough for a while. Good thing they’re young and confident.
We’ll see how the salon goes. When I told Brantley that we’d have to go to the salon to get the rest of her hair cut and evened out, she said, “but I didn’t want all of it short!”
Y’all need to look at this again.
And I was just thinking yesterday that I was so glad the front of Grayson’s hair had finally grown long enough to tuck behind her ears.
Welp, she’s got bangs now.
So, consider this a public service announcement.
LOCK UP YOUR SCISSORS.
And please say a prayer for me.
In between catching your breath from laughing hysterically.