A Near Cut

Monkey2 had the play scissors, part of a beauty kit, and was industriously sawing on the toys, the sofa, and loose fabric that caught her eye.

"Would you like the real scissors and paper?" I asked, amused.

"Yes!" and she scurried to the dining table. We have a rule that she has to be sitting at the table in order to use scissors. She happily snipped away at construction paper, making a nice pile of confetti, and I sat beside her, drinking my tea.

Then she grabbed a large chunk of her hair on one side of her head, raised the scissors, blades open, and looked right at me.

"No," I said.

"Daddy will be happy," she countered.

"Daddy will NOT be happy if you cut your hair," I answered. He had been unhappy when I had cut her hair into bangs so she could see, so I was sure he'd be unhappy if any of the golden locks that cute up into ponytails came off. "Daddy will be sad if you cut your hair."

"Daddy will be happy," she insisted.

"No... should we call him?" I asked.

So we did, with the receiver on Speaker Phone, set in the middle of the table between us. Poor Dad got a garble of something about happy, so I translated. "She wants to know if you'd be happy if she cut her hair."

"No, you don't want to cut your hair," he coaxed. "I'd be sad if you cut your beautiful hair," he said.

Monkey2's eyes welled up in tears, she burst into howls, I removed the scissors from her hands, and I yelled at the phone, "Thanks for the backup! Talk to you later!"

Saved the tresses for another day.