I'm assured by my mother that all households share this moment. This singular, defining moment of childhood:
the sibling haircut.
Five minutes (no exaggeration) before we left for Utah, the guilty party was discovered. I'm not joking when I say that I had tears brimming. All mothers think their little girls are the cutest, as it should be, and to see my sweet, innocent, beautiful little girl's hair BUTCHED, about did me in. It's funny now, but for a split second I thought, what if people think I cut her hair like this on purpose? You can't tell from the pictures, but her left side is three inches shorter than her right. AHH.
We went to Utah with plans to fix her hair the next day. Five days later, still no hair-cut. I don't want to cut the rest of her hair to even it out. I'm hoping that variations of pig-tails and side parts will hide it for a month or so until it's semi-blended. Here's hoping. I've saved her beautiful locks in my cedar chest as a memory. I'm not ready to part with them, holding on to the dream of creating some way to weave them back in. Ridiculous, I know. Lincoln (sweet, sweet boy) has been lovingly assured that his life is at stake if he becomes a repeat-offender.