“Natalie?” I shouted. I had just finished folding laundry upstairs. She was downstairs. I thought Dora the Explorer was babysitting but I suppose not. Dora was busy lecturing Swiper the Fox and my kid was nowhere to be seen. AND THERE WERE SCISSORS BY THE TV!
What if she cut off all her hair? She has such beautiful long hair. What if it fell in different lengths now? She watches too much Tangled and thinks it’s awesome when Flynn Rider cuts off Rapunzel’s hair. No, really, she thinks it’s AWESOME. When that part comes on she claps and is like, “That’s a great job, Flynn Rider.” WHAT IF SHE WANTED TO COPY FLYNN RIDER?
“Natalie?” I tried again.
“I’m in the bathroom. Peeing,” Natalie called out.
“In what state are you in?” I replied.
Well, not really. I wanted to ask though. And I would have barged in and had a look but Natalie is big on privacy. As in, if I walk in the bathroom, there are times when she’s all, “YOU’RE STEALING MY PRIVACY!” Granted, other times she’s like, “Please wipe my butt. I pooped.”
It seemed to take forever for Natalie to emerge. When she did I let out a breath of relief. Her hair was still there.
“What were you doing with the scissors?” I demanded. Even though her hair was still there, it didn't mean all was well. There are MANY things she could cut.
“Oh, I gave Max a haircut,” she answered sweetly.
Max is our cat.
And yes, he’s longhaired, but he would not appreciate a haircut.
“We don’t play with scissors,” I reminded her and started searching for Max. I found him glaring at me from under the table. His eyes said, “Great parenting.”
His missing patch of fur said, “Done by a four year old.”
“Don’t ever play with scissors again,” I lectured.
“Why? Max looks nice. You’re welcome, Max,” Natalie said with a wide grin.
I’m hiding all of the scissors from now on. It’s not like I left the scissors she used out in the open either. They were on top of the counter in the far corner where all the pens are kept. But the little monkey just climbs up and grabs what she wants.
Anyway, as I was cleaning the living room, I opened the cabinet and found this:
Yup.
She lied.
She DID cut a piece of her hair off.
“Natalie!” I shrieked.
She seemed irritated with ME (with ME!) as she stomped back in. Sometimes she behaves like a mini-teenager.
“Wh-at?” she said, stretching out the word as though I had interrupted something important.
“You cut your hair!” I waved the strand in her face.
Natalie didn’t even look guilty. “I did that,” she explained, “because those hairs hurt me. So I cut them off. And now I’m not hurting anymore.”
Nice. Four year old logic.
Needless to say, the scissors are being kept in a lock box now.
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