Tonight, I cradled my daughter in my right arm while we both stretched out on the bed. She was crying because her morning kindergarten class is canceled tomorrow because of the inclement weather (i.e. ice on the side roads). I tried to distract her by telling her that we’d do something tomorrow, only I couldn’t really come up with something fantastic. She turned her face to mine and asked if we could go shopping and it was then that I noticed her right eyebrow.
It looked weird. Her tooth looks really weird, too, since it’s beginning to come loose, but that eyebrow . . . I began to stroke it with one finger. I brushed it back and forth as she continued to chatter.
Then: “Did you cut your eyebrow?” Surely not. The idea was outlandish.
“No” she said, without conviction.
“Really? Because it looks like . . . well, it looks like you cut it. Did you?”
“Grace, you cut your eyebrow, didn’t you?”
And she admitted that she had, indeed, cut her eyebrow. I don’t think she realized that scissoring her eyebrow would actually CUT her eyebrow.
She used the Fiskars scissors for kids and I pictured her stabbing herself in her eyeball and so I said, “Grace, do not cut your eyebrows! You might poke yourself in the eye! Don’t do that!”
She said she wouldn’t.
At least it wasn’t her hair (which she tells me she wishes were “smooth”–we curly-haired types just want straight hair). She cut her hair a couple of years ago (I couldn’t find the post I did about it) and it’s only just now grown out. Her hair grows very slowly and then boings into curly ringlets.
She’s still bummed about not going to school tomorrow. I hope her boredom doesn’t tempt her to pierce her own ears or remove her own spleen. What ever happened to just cutting the hair off of a Barbie?