Exhibit A. “Bang-Chop” From the Front

“Mommy, you’re totally gonna freak out” are not the words you want to hear first thing in the morning. Ever. But, alas, life with my Poopiegirls never ceases to be anything but a 3-ring circus, so my initial reaction after hearing these words was definitely not to panic. A came racing into our room last week at an ungodly hour to report to us that little sis had definitely done something bad. How bad was yet to be determined. Usually, when I think about what I’ve “freaked-out” over in the past it has been when there was some kind of permanent desecration of our home (such as when they decided to practice writing their letters all over their walls using sparkly lip gloss and I spent the next two hours inhaling “Goo Gone” up my nostrils while my arms went numb from wiping and scrubbing) or when fun ends badly, literally leaving marks and wounds on the other as evidence of foul play (such as when A & D decided it would be funny to slide down the little incline of the tub onto one another over and over again like a slip & slide until A’s knee landed on D’s cheek bone at full force and the poor kid looked like she had a bar fight shiner for weeks). So, I took a deep breath before entering their room this time, deciding that whatever the forthcoming “freak out” was about it, I had probably already experienced some version of it already and would handle it all in stride.

And then…I saw it. I saw all the little brown curls, the trail of evidence all around the floor of her little vanity table and I caught her red-handed with the scissors. Yep, you guessed it. Like so many curious kids before her, Miss D had chopped off her hair. Well, actually only part of her hair. Thanks to A’s incessant warnings, I managed to get to her before she could damage beyond giving herself ridiculously short and jagged bangs.  Please see exhibits A & B above should you require a visual accompaniment to the words “ridiculous” and “jagged.” My first thought was to berate her over climbing up one of the kitchen stools to the counter top and stealing the scissors in the first place. But the look on her poor little face when she saw me standing in the doorway almost seemed punishment enough. She was instantly contrite and remorseful and I didn’t have to say a thing. She took a look at herself in the mirror and the reality of what she had done set in. There was no need for me to say a thing about scissor safety or the dangers of sharp objects or how much worse she could have made herself look or how seriously she could’ve harmed or cut herself. The image of her crooked hair in the mirror was all it took for her to understand how naughty she had been and how sorry she now was.

But the truth was, I wasn’t all that sorry that she did it. Yes, she will look silly for a little while and yes she could’ve hurt herself, which thankfully she didn’t, but there is honestly a part of me that’s kind of proud of her little brass balls for doing that. Allow me to explain. For much of her four year existence on this planet, D has been completely overshadowed by big sis’ boisterous, loud, bossy and larger-than-life personality. Whenever they play a game, A is in charge. She always dictates the rules and parameters and assigns the roles. She tells her little sis what to say and do and what to wear and where to go. And for the most part, D complies, always seeming content to follow along with A’s direction and never rebels against it or ignores her or suggests an alternative way of doing things. But, apparently, that particularly morning when D finally spoke-up and said “let’s play beauty shop and cut our hair,” A told her no and reminded her several times that they would get in trouble if they used real scissors. And for the first time I can recall, D completely ignored her sister and her warnings and went ahead and did it anyway. I kind of wanted to shout from the mountaintops, “you go girl!” because I sensed that even though she knew she exercised it in a dangerous way, she was still proud of herself for defying A and doing what she wanted for a change. It took a great deal of courage and moxy for her to sneak downstairs, grab those scissors and then come upstairs and cut her bangs off right under PoopieMommy and PoopieDaddy’s noses. I have to admit, I swelled a little bit with maternal pride, as I recognized this very characteristic in myself and it’s one I’m proud of owning. Poops here has a big ‘ole set of balls (figuratively!) and though they sometimes get me into trouble, they more times than not have also helped me obtain things I desire and make life a lot more fun and exciting.  Perhaps I’m a bad Mommy for loving the fact that D blatantly moved forward with her sneaky plan despite A’s insistence that she not do it, but I’m also a younger sibling and I can relate to D’s position in the sibling ranks. Sometimes you just gotta break the rules. I can recall countless episodes of my youth where breaking the rules made for some of the very best times and treasured memories. And even now, as an adult and mother, it’s still fun to break ‘em from time to time.

Cutting your own hair is like a rite of passage for every kid. I know I did it. I did that and so much more. My curiosity got the better of me constantly, sometimes ending badly or even painfully, but I’m glad I’m a risk-taker and I still think it’s an admirable quality and one that should be encouraged. Life would be pretty boring and dull if we didn’t take chances and see what’s possible of the world and of ourselves. Even if it starts with something as silly as cutting one’s own hair just to see if you’re really bold enough to go through with it, there’s a quality there that should be recognized and commended as D grows. I’m not talking about the daredevil  gene for the sake of being a daredevil or the adrenaline junkie that can’t calculate the odds and just wants the endless thrill. No, I’m talking about taking risks in life that make life more interesting and full and allow you the opportunity to surprise even yourself. This is all I want for my kids…to live full, happy lives experiencing all that it has to offer and not shying away from it or being afraid to lose some control.

And so, despite the fact that it sometimes comes with marks on the wall or stains on the carpet or god forbid some tears or wounds, I don’t think I’ll ever fret the words “Mommy, you’re totally gonna freak out.” I will actually try embrace them as much as I can, knowing that at least my girls aren’t wallflowers resting on their laurels. Rather, they are full of spunk and imagination and curiosity and balls. Yes, balls, poopies! I said it. For even if they may go too far from time to time or use them for the wrong reasons now and then (which god knows I did and still do sometimes…poops here is always a work-in-progress!), I would rather my girls have a pair than not!

ADDENDUM: (indulge me a little housekeeping please…)