If I Can’t Brush It, We’re Cutting It Off

So said me last night as I was combing out CootieGirl’s hair after her bath. Her hair was RAGGED because she wouldn’t let me brush it all week (Marmie is squirming right now at the thought of CootieGirl’s hair looking like something out of “A Girl Named Sooner” (and props to you if you’ve seen that movie – as a young girl I saw it several times in the late 1970s and the bird scene actually gave me nightmares that I remember sending me into my mother’s arms like a blubbering idiot)). So I used a double portion of conditioner last night and it was STILL hard to get the tangles out. But CootieGirl had a stiff upper lip and only cried a little bit (okay, well it was still a lot but a fraction of her normal theatrics when I attempt to brush her hair). At some point I said, “CootieGirl, I’m telling you right now that we are brushing your hair EVERY DAY from now on. And if you won’t let me brush it, we’re cutting it off.”

“Don’t cut my hair!” she cried.

“I think we have to – we’ll wait until after you see Marmie at the end of the month and then we’ll take you to get a big girl haircut.”

Fortunately, it sounded like Denis was okay with it. I’m not looking to hack it all off (although I’d LOVE to see her with a pageboy haircut) – just take off about 5-6 inches so that it’s not as long and likely to get tangled up.

And if I don’t cut it off? I’m absolutely going to begin calling her “Sooner” – I’m not even kidding.