Isn’t it funny how sometimes your week takes on a theme all by itself? My word for this week is hair and here’s why.

Did you have an appointment for today?

My cousin and I visit a lovely hairdresser every few months. She has a salon in her house and her prices are fantastic. We had to cancel our November appointment and the next available appointment she had was in January.

When we knocked on the door we were met with a really confused looking hairdresser. The poor lady was distraught that she had forgotten to write our appointment down, she’s such a lovely lady and couldn’t apologise enough. We all had a giggle and re-booked for this weekend. I will admit I had been looking forward to that haircut all week, there’s nothing nicer than a fresh cut and a bit of pampering.

After 10 years

I’ve only ever known Chris with long hair, he started growing it in 2006. When we met in 2010 and it was lovely and long with curls at the bottom. For the past few years, it’s really started to get on his nerves for one reason or another and he often made grumblings about cutting it. We had to buy some clippers this week so it seemed the perfect time for him to go ahead and do it.

I won’t lie I watched in horror as he chopped all his beautiful hair off, sweeping it up afterward was painful too. It does look good though and at least he’s still got his beard I suppose.

Traumatic Trimmings 

Despite going to the hairdressers since he was 10 months old Jake hates having his hair cut with a passion. The last time we took him he kicked the hairdresser and almost ended up with scissors stuck in his ear. He bawled, screamed and tantrums all the way through.

Chris and I both agreed that we couldn’t put a poor hairdresser through that ever again. With Jake’s hair flopping into his eyes we decided we would have to bite the bullet and tackle it with clippers at home. Let’s just say it didn’t go well, it had to be done and we got on with it. We spent the whole evening feeling like terrible parents and will certainly put the next cut off as long as possible.

Poor Barbie!

Daisy’s antics with a pair of scissors and a Barbie doll brought much light relief to our week of hair. After the kid’s bedtime I heard little feet running across our bedroom which is directly above the living room. I shouted up to Daisy to see what she was doing, she said she had been the toilet. I thought nothing more of it and told her to get back into bed.

What a shock I had when later that night I found a pile of blonde hair on my bed. With Sherlock type skills I deduced that some poor dolly had been the victim of a 5-year-old wannabe hairdresser. The trail of blonde wisps led me to the poor plastic victim.

Chris and I giggled, we were more relieved that she hadn’t cut her own hair. I didn’t get cross because I remember doing exactly the same when I was a little girl. When I asked her what happened the next morning she told me Barbie wanted a new hair-do. Needless to say, my nail scissors are well out of Daisy’s reach in case she gets any styling urges in the future.