So Dorothy spent a long time being very quiet behind our big chair today, and I wondered what she was up to. But what could she be doing right there a few feet from me? I figured she was reading a book, and (sorry, but parenthood is gross) maybe picking her nose. After a while, however, she ran quickly from her hiding spot into the kitchen, then yelled, "Mom, don't come into the kitchen!" Never a good sign. So of course I went into the kitchen, and confronted a small child with a really bad hair cut. I wasn't sure what to do. I walked back out of the kitchen and inspected the crime scene (above). It was kind of funny, but I couldn't laugh, right? I went back in and matter-of-factly told her we'd have to go immediately to get her hair cut at a hair-cutting place, since we don't cut our own hair, and it doesn't look okay unless someone else does it. She burst into tears even though I didn't get mad (ahh, the guilty conscience!). I took money from her piggy bank to pay for the outing, and off we went. The result is below. I think I'll take her to my own stylist next week (or let someone else if I'm tied up with a new baby) and have it shaped up a bit--I'm not crazy about how it looks, but then, I'm sure what we came in with was a bit difficult to work with! The self-haircut is a right of passage, right? But then, I never did it myself.