When the Velociraptor Needs a Haircut

I read an article this morning about a mom who “forced” her daughter to wear hideous outfits from the thrift store because said spawn was bullying another girl about her clothes. (Apparently, it’s an old story, but a good one!) Ah…the memories….


Circa 2006. California. Thing 1 was born with some spectacularly curly, blonde hair. Honest to goodness, people would ask me if I permed her hair. Um…no.  But she loved her hair and as a outgoing 5-year-old, she loved it even more when other people loved her hair. Personally, I loved conditioner and detangling spray (God bless you, Johnson & Johnson).


Thing 1 was (and still is) a whipper-snapper. That lil’ thing taught herself the ABC’s at 18 months. I have proof on video because I was certain that I’d birthed a velociraptor. Until she was enrolled in Pre-K (called T-K that year because “T” meant transitional, whereas “Pre” was obviously not “T”), most of her friends were adults. Yeah, I’m a jerk that way, but her sentence structure was fabulous!


So off she goes to T-K. We get great reports and macaroni crafts…right up to the day we get a call about “an incident.” Of course, there must be some misunderstanding. My kid wasn’t mean! Oh, but she was…Thing 1 had taken it upon herself to bully another girl about her hair, going so far as to give it a solid yank. Or two.


And she wasn’t sorry.


I also wasn’t sorry when I lopped off about 6 inches of her hair that night (with the Hubs’ blessing). And I can imagine some horrified looks about our decision. But Thing 1’s lack of remorse wasn’t going to be solved with kind words or a stern voice. It was the finality of having to explain her shorter hair to the other kids that made her understand the severity of bullying. Oh believe me, her 5-year-old brain got it. Hair grows back. Bullying can last a lifetime.


And in case you think my heart is made of either lead or ice, I cried the night I cut her hair. Making hard decisions to force your kiddo to see their error is not a chocolate covered almond. It’s a chocolate covered raisin…you think it’s not so bad: “Oh, chocolate!” And then you realize it really does suck.


So, yeah, I’m that Mom. And I applaud other moms who make a hard decision and stick with it. It’s not a high point in our mommy lives. And you peeps who put raisins in oatmeal cookies, ew. Stop. You make me question all chocolate chip cookies.


About sarahb5149

When tasked with how to describe myself, I get quiet, leading people to believe that I am trying to come up with something deep and meaningful. In fact, I am trying to decide which to display without confusing them. I'm a Christian. And that doesn't mean that I simply say it - I love the Lord and have figured out over the years that He knows what He's doing, even when I am stomping my feet or looking at Him like I have no clue what is going on (*hint* it happens more than I'd care to admit). Writing has been a passion of mine since I was a wee lil' thing; I kept my first poem in all of it's stammering, unevenness. Wife and mom, daughter and sister, aunt and Sunday School teacher, I adore the roles that God has given me. A bit of a sci-fi nerd, geek and self proclaimed dork, there isn't much that I won't try at least once...unless it involves mayonnaise because that stuff is just gross. View all posts by sarahb5149

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