I answered my phone to one of my favorite little voices on the other end. I love random phone calls to hear little tidbits of life from my grandchildren.
“Gigi,” Riley said in an annoyed voice, “Kaylee wrote on my legs and my feet.”
I giggled to myself. “Oh No! What color pen did she use, Riley?” The little serious voice said, “Blue. I’m not happy.” I could almost see her frowning through the phone. Kaylee must have been hiding out in her bedroom. Usually she has something to pipe in during Riley’s turn on the phone, but not today.
“Did she say she was sorry?” I asked, hoping that would take out the sting. “No. But she cut my hair.” “She what???” I tried to sound calm. “Yes, she did, Gigi. She cut my hair.”
I closed my eyes and flashed back to an identical moment. Riley’s mom, Erika, cut her sister’s hair at this age too. They were playing quietly, which is never a good thing. Erika arrived with a pair of scissors and said, “Jamie is so beautiful now.”
I panicked. “Jamie, come here right now,” I screamed. When she arrived on the back deck she had no bangs left. They were cut to her scalp. Gone! “Oh Jamie, you look ger-gous,” the hair designer bragged. “She kept pushing her hair out of her eyes, so I cut it,” Erika confessed. Of course this happened because pre-school pictures were the following week.
Jamie smiled and twirled to show me the back of her ger-gous hair style. There was a gap on the right side of her head. The stylist had removed a three inch section of hair. Jamie was still twirling and fluffing her hair, thinking she looked like a little princess. Erika touched her bald forehead and commented, “You are so ger-geous, Jamie.”
Erika took the phone to describe the hair cut in full detail. “I can’t believe she did this!” she said seriously. I chuckled. “Poor Riley looks like she’s been scalped. It’s a good thing she escaped before she chopped off all her hair in the back. She took out a whole three inch section. Can you believe it, Mom?”
“Can I believe it? You’re taking me down Memory Lane. You did the same thing to Jamie.” I laughed at the memory. It wasn’t funny then, but the years have softened me.
Her daughter, thirty two years later, had used the exact same excuse. “Mommy, I helped her out. She doesn’t have to push it out of her eyes anymore.” She might have needed a half inch trimmed, but now she had no bangs at all. Problem solved for the next four months.
When I snapped back to reality, I was so sentimental about that haircut. I wish I could go back to those days. It was an innocent butchering. It seems my daughter passed the problem solving genes forward to her daughter.
The “haircuts” are identical. The good thing is Riley must also believe she is ger-gous too. Why else would she stand on her scooter in her little pool with a big smile on her face? She really is ger-gous!