Parenting Izabella - when everyday is a carnival ride

Early last week, to celebrate their half birthdays, my toddler son and daughter gave themselves haircuts. They stole the kid-safe craft scissors out of the art supply cabinet and delighted in snipping off long 6 inch strands of her curls and short little puffs of his newly-professionally-cut hair. Down to the scalp.

He ended up with a dashing dart of baldness across the side of his head and the thinest sliver of skin where a little curl used to sit at the center of his forehead. Looking at him now you might think "Clumsy Barber" or, knowing better, you'd laugh (Ha Ha!) at the whimsical carelessness of youth. Darling child.

She ended up with a four-by-three inch path blazed down the center of her head riddled with nickle-sized bald patches and moody quarter-inch hair tufts that zigzagged madly upward. Looking at her, you might think "This is what the mullet would look like if anyone other than white people had tried it" or, knowing better, you'd cry (Dear God!) at how quickly something so beautiful could be so thoroughly trashed. It was her very first haircut.

I, of course, cried. Sobbed actually. Sobbed on and off for over an hour while I called friends and family to bemoan (dramatically) how ill-equiped I am for adult responsibility. ("I was doing dishes! I never get to do dishes! All i tried to do was do my dishes and now they are Bald! Bald! Do you understand? My babies are Bald!" or "What am I supposed to do? Last month Ron2 got an unpopped popcorn kernal in his lower eyelid! Before that he got a penny adhered to the roof of his mouth! and now this! He just got a haircut. There isn't any hair left on his head - how did he cut what he has with those tiny dull little scissors? How can I save them from themselves when they keep doing things that aren't even physically possible!?") My friends and family said tried to reassure: "No. It isn't your fault. Kids do these things. Well, okay, so kids don't do THESE things so much as far less absurd versions of these things. But someday you'll look back and think its funny. Its actually funny now. Describe her hair to me again. Can you send pictures? It's freaking funny, really, i mean, i'm sorry i'm laughing but... Tell me again what he said when you found them..."

I briefly contemplated moving to New York where my mother could help me raise these little wayward balding babies. But then I rallied. On principle, I insist on raising them myself, well, raising them as long as they survive, which suddenly didn't seem likely to be long. Post-Haircut every household object seemed menacing. No amount of childproofing could save them from themselves if they insisted on such reckless creativity. My only hope is Ron2's judgement. When I first discovered their joyful game (Iza said "Look Mommy! I cutting!" I said "Good Baby, what are you cutting?"), he mumbled under his breath "I knew I shouldn't have listened to Izabella. I knew it!" (Suddenly I see us outside a police station, she's 16, he'd tried to stop her from going to that party, wait, no, he'd tried to stop her from breaking into the zoo afterhours but she said they'd be back home before anyone knew they were missing and wouldn't it just be so much fun to see the animals at night?...) Now, seeing me cry as I held handfuls of Iza'a hair up to the heavens (why god why?), Ron2 hung his head remorsefully and patted my arm ("It's okay mommy. Izabella wanted to cut her hair.").

Iza, true to form, was nothing but Adventurous Charm in response to the crisis. She put on her tattered princess costume, danced on the dining room table, stole my phone to begin a riviting game of chase, etc etc. At first I thought she didn't even care that I was upset but later, in a quiet moment over lunch, she gravely said "I cut my hair" and then confessed to stealing and eating half a box of tic-tacs and two pieces of gum. Then: Remorse Iza Style. For the rest of the day, she'd spontaneously jump to me and plant fat enthusiastic noisy kisses on my cheeks.

Let me be clear - the kisses do not make the hair cut worth it and I wouldn't think twice before trading this funny memory for an intact head of gorgeous curly hair. But today, when I tried to fold laundry, Iza took the saddle off the cloth-covered rocking horse, removed her pants and diaper, and rode bare-back bare-butted while singing the title song to her school's xmas pageant ("He's the Messiah! Dum dah dah. He's the Messiah!"). And even though she wasn't on a real horse and even though she doesn't really have hair, I could see her riding through an open field, wind blowing through her hair, sun kissing her skin, iza sqeezing every joyful bit out of life. In that moment I knew her spirit is going to spare her more trouble then it's going to get her into.

Thank God she looks good in headbands.