Rite of Passage?

It happened. How many kids end up with wonky hairstyles, forever preserved in those old and embarrassing family photos.

Kayla cut her own hair with a pair of kids scissors.

Thankfully, it wasn't that bad. It was probably a quarter of an inch thick bundle of hair, maybe 3 inches long.

I can't remember what I was doing in the next room over, but I thought Kayla was playing or coloring in the living room by herself. She was pretty quiet (I should have known something was up when it got quiet since the girl yaps all day and night). By the time I came to check on what she was doing, she was sitting on the floor of the dining room with a sheet of paper in her left hand, and IKEA kids scissors in her right hand. There were a few very small scraps of paper on the floor all around her. One of the dining room chairs was pushed up against the counter in the kitchen, where the cup that contains writing utensils and a pair of scissor sits.

Under that chair, was her 3-inch long bundle of hair. As if she had purposely pushed it under the chair to pretend it never happened.

It seems that most kids do this, or so I've been told by other parents. Some of these stories end with emergency trips to get the kids' hair fixed, others just deal with their child's ridiculous-looking hair until it grows out. I was mad at myself for letting her play unsupervised. And for leaving those scissors in the cup on the counter. But I was relieved that it was minimal damage, and since she had cut off a piece closer to the front of her face, it almost looks like she tried layering her hair. So you really can't tell unless someone points it out to you.

But still, I had to scold her. Kayla was not happy. She readily admitted that she had taken the scissors and cut her hair with them. I told her I was not mad at her for using the scissors, but I was mad because she is always supposed to ask first and can only use scissors when Mommy and Daddy are in the room watching her. And that scissors are only used for cutting paper.

Of course, Kayla cried. I took the scissors away and told her to stay in time out until she was ready to apologize. She cried for a minute and then said,

Sorry, Mommy.

I forgive you, Kayla. Can you tell me why Mommy is angry with you?

Still sobbing, she answered, Because I took the scissors without asking and cut my hair.

It was so sad but I was glad that she understood right away what she had done wrong.

Which brings me to an incident that occurred last week while we were getting ready to leave for preschool one morning. I was in the kitchen, getting my lunch and coffee ready when I heard a loud thump in the hallway. I poked my head around the corner and Kayla was standing in her jacket with her shoes on, staring at the wall right above the baseboard molding. There was a big dent in the wall and some of the drywall was broken.

Kayla, what happened? I asked.

I didn't do anything, she said, I just kick the wall with my shoe.

REALLY. We were in a rush to get out of the house, as usual, and decided to deal with the consequences later in the evening when we got home. As I was unbuckling her from the carseat, I told Kayla very solemnly that when we got inside, I had something to show her. This piqued her curiosity (I'm sure I was totally misleading her) and she kept asking, What is it? What's inside? and I kept telling her, You'll see when we get in the house. After she took off her jacket and shoes, I walked her over to the hallway where the hole in the wall was and asked, What's this? What happened over here? Sure enough, Kayla got all serious and had a guilty look on her face and answered, That's where I kicked the wall with my shoe. She cried in time out for a few minutes and then George came home and went through the same questioning process with her, and then explained that she would have to help Daddy when he fixes the wall. She seemed excited at the prospect of helping Daddy fix the hole. (I think George is secretly hoping she will turn out to be as handy as him. Okay, so maybe it's not a secret. He might be super disappointed if Kayla turns out to be as inept as me.)

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All of this reminds me of one of the things that I should have added to my "Things I don't want to forget but I never blogged about" entry.

One time, during one of our stays at my parents' house, Kayla was supposed to be napping in the room with the twin bed. She was probably two years old, close to three almost? It wasn't unusual for her to play by herself during naptime instead of actually sleeping. After awhile, when we finally decided that she wasn't going to fall asleep, we went into the room to get her. And saw Kayla with a black ballpoint pen in her hand. And black ink all over the place. Interestingly enough, there was no pen on the walls, since we had instructed her many a time that we never, EVER draw on the walls. However, there were black pen marks on every other surface, including:

the comforter on the bed
the pillowcase
her hands and fingers
some smudges on her nose and cheeks

I can't decide what the real kicker was...

the lampshade or the red metal bedposts? Yes, she scribbled all over the shade of a small bedside lamp (circa 1977 probably?) and the thin brass pole that holds the light bulb socket. And there were scribbles all over the old red metal bedpost/headboard from IKEA circa 1988 that sorta looks like this one:


I am kicking myself now for not taking pictures of it when it happened.