Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits.
"Because I do!"
For example, Sunday night I didn't go to bed until way too late.
Earlier in the day I had sat down at my piano and was playing a song when the jagged ebony on the keys cut me. Again. I was getting tired of playing out my stress turning into a painful bloody thing, so I marched down to my office, pulled out my electric sander (yes, it really is mine. Jeffrey gave it to me for my birthday a few years ago. I love that my man buys me power tools!), and began sanding them as per the advice of the piano tuner. Except my big sander sometimes wanted to miss the keys and sand the wood right beneath them. So I had to remove that strip of wood. And then I had to clean out from under the keys because they were scary dusty. Thank you vacuum attachment. And then I sanded until my sandpaper was all cut up and the edges of my keys were nice and smooth.
Except I couldn't stop there.
I may be slightly OCD.
While I was cleaning the dust off the keys, I noticed the metal on the front of my piano that had controlled the player part of the piano which has since been removed. The metal pieces were very tarnished and looked a greenish black color. So I pulled out my metal polish and went to town on them. A lot of the dirt was very stubborn and it took a lot of elbow grease, but I triumphed, and it looks gorgeous now.
Except when I finished with that, everything else looked so nice, but the hinge that held the lid of the the keyboard was also that ghastly greenish black color, so I had to take that apart as well and polish it, too. And then the petals. Oh, and then polishing the whole piano, of course, because my parents taught me to never leave a job half done (I say with dishes in my sink. Oh well, I am inconsistent, what can I do?).
And so, I finished way too late, but am so pleased with my hard work and my piano now, it was all worth it.
"Why did I stay up so late cleaning my piano?" I asked myself.
"Because I do!" instantly popped into my head.
I did a quick scan of the floor and saw a handful more of the curls mixed in with some pieces of cloth which looked suspiciously similar to my sheets. With a sinking heart greater than the Titanic, I dropped to my knees to confirm what I already knew.
Faye had found some scissors.
Is mine the only heart that turns cold when that sentence is uttered?
There they sat, innocently winking at me in the lamplight, obviously unconscious of the carnage and heartache they left in their wake.
I really think Faye tries to make up for Keith's lack of mischief. He is just such a good boy, rarely breaks rules, always tries to do what is asked or expected of him, he rarely gives me any strife. I am convinced that Faye sees that and feels it her duty to educate her big brother through example, and so gets into as much mischief as two kids combined.
I admit, when I saw those curls lying on my floor, I cried a little.
Today I find it a little ironic that I had just written about Faye's last hair cutting fiasco, nine months ago, thinking it was long behind me, and then this happens.
Add that to your song, Alanis Morissette, it is far more ironic than finding spoons when all you need is a knife.
I went to bed, feeling a bit like a failure. We had already done this. Why hadn't Faye learned anything? Her hair was just getting back to the stage where I could fix it in cute ways, and I had hoped in a month I would no longer need to braid her bangs to incorporate them.
Alas, it was not to be.
In fact, it was barely noticeable.
I called my cousin Nykele, who lives a few streets over and asked if she could help me out.
She came to my rescue.
Faye now has some very cute layers and bangs.
When I asked her why she had cut it, she said it was because she wanted to have short hair again. It was probably a good thing I found the hair while she was sleeping because it really gave me time to cool down. Had I not had that time, her comment would have been much harder to hear. For both me, and her.
Trying to make the lesson stick this time, we talked about her consequence for the next time it happens. If she cuts her hair again, we will either cut it short like a boys, or shave it. More of a punishment for her parents, if you ask me. That did strike fear into her eyes, and she knew I meant business. Quickly trying to think like her and cover all my bases, I added that if I found out she had cut Beth's hair, or anyone else's, that would also be grounds for getting her hair cut like a boy's. Or, if she allowed someone else to cut her hair, or encouraged her friends to cut their hair. I think we covered all the bases there. I certainly hope so! She is a very creative child and very good at getting past all of our brilliantly Faye-proof plans.
I have to admit, I really do like the haircut, and it is very becoming on her, but I do miss her long locks.
If she isn't careful, Beth will have longer hair than her very soon. As for now, they are about tied. Except, of course, Beth has much thinner, finer baby hair. And who knows, Faye may feel the need to get a pixie cut.