There was no Malice Aforethought.

Let me preface this by saying that my mother cut my hair when I was little. (You see where this is going already, don't you?) I remember sitting on the tall, black stool in the basement draped in my father's shirt. I remember my mother saying, "Now, sit still." I don't, however, remember wiggling.

Fast forward several decades and a few more years for good measure. I am the mommy now. And I have a little one with a wild, exuberant, blond, curly mop. Buzzy's hair really would be her crowing glory if it weren't so often full of Play-Doh, sand and the remains of lunch. Gorgeous as it is, it's too long. I know this because her pigtails fall down by lunch time, and contain whatever she did or ate that day.

Because sedating one's toddler to cut her hair is generally frowned upon, the various professionals we've called upon for a trim haven't done a great job. Tonight, after washing out the yogurt and blueberries she had after dinner, along with a glob of peanut butter she had for lunch, I decided to try my hand at it. "How hard can it be?" I remember thinking. Remind me to abort whatever mission I'm about to undertake the next time I think that.

Buzzy promised not to wiggle. We even practiced sitting still. I brought out the good scissors (and, oh, how her eyes widened when she saw the sharp, un-child-safe blades). I combed her hair. I pinned up half of it. I snipped. All was well. I snipped again. And agai--SHE MOVED! Mid-snip! In one split-second, she took her chin-length bob to a layered look. I took a deep breath, steadied her and my shaking hand and snipped again--just as she twisted around, asking if she could play with the curls on the floor.

I finished as best I could and tucked her into bed with wet hair, fighting back tears of remorse. She was blissfully ignorant. When she saw the piles of curls on the floor, she said, "You did a good job cutting my hair, Mommy!" Oh, sweet girl. I wish everyone would judge the job by the amount of hair on the floor rather than by what remains on your head! I honestly don't know what awaits in the morning, except for a fairly certain trip to the barber.