Six inches chopped off, just like that. Six inches of the gorgeous, long, golden brown hair that she'd spent 18 months patiently growing out--
gone in under fifteen minutes. Six inches, instantly swept up off the salon floor and sent into the mysterious graveyard of cut-off hair in a slumping black trashbag in the corner. This because I (naively) allowed my 5-year old to chop off all under the pretense that she "just wanted short hair now, Momma!" Boy, was I ever wrong *sigh!*
It all began Friday when we took a trip to the salon, a Mommy-daughter date of sorts (which is a rarity these days, since her baby brother's birth over a year ago.) And like a very grown-up girl, she took a seat on the salon chair and politely proclaimed to the hair-dresser:
"I don't just want a trim, I want a lot of hairs cut off! Like, really short, all the way up to here! (pointing to just beneath her ears) Is that okay Momma? I just really want short hair now, okay?"
Not wanting to impose upon my tenacious Preschooler's right to freedom of expression, I agreed to her request, reminding her that it is indeed her hair and that if she would like it short, then short it is. The hairdresser performed the obligatory reminders- "Just so you know, you won't be able to put it into a pony-tail for a while. Or a long braid. Or pigtails - Is that ok?"
Not the least bit intimidated by these scare tactics, Ava responded, "That's ok, it will grow back one day. I would please like it short!"
A little taken aback by such an unwavering response from a five-year old, the hairdresser smiled to herself, picked up the scissors, and agreed, "Ok then, Miss Ava- short it is!"
Twenty minutes later....
(plus a little fancy-pants action with the blow dryer and some tres expensive, goopy hair "product,") it was over. And my little girl had a whole new look.
An absolutely adorable, big girl look:
A look that left her feeling confident, pleased, and glowing all over. The rest of the afternoon (which, incidentally, we spent at the mall in true Mommy-daughter-date style,) I kept catching her secretly peering at herself in reflections and mirrors, smiling big & wide and commenting on just how much she loved her new 'do. She was obviously very happy and there was even a notable new bounce in her step. I was thrilled that something as simple as hair had truly made her day!
The rest of the afternoon at the mall unfolded more or less predictably, with numerous pleas to "pretty pretty please??" buy her a new stuffed animal, toy, or pair of shoes. (sidenote, excellent timing that Mr. Claus himself was already perched at the mall for the season, because aforementioned pleas were met with a "Not today, but we can certainly stop by and let Santa know that it is on your list" from me.) She did ultimately find a super boring navy blue jumper (similar to the private school dress-code jumpers) that, beyond my comprehension, she just had to have. And since it was already reduced and we had a coupon, we bought it. (never too young to learn smart shopping habits!)
One thing I did, however, find a bit strange during our shopping spree, was her burning desire to find a hat.
"Honey, you already have two new winter hats, we don't need any more." I told her firmly.
"But Momm-mmmma," she implored, "not a winter hat. A...different kind. Like, maybe, a pretty yellow-ish, light brown-ish hat, with a red ribbon tied around it? Can we look?"
I supposed there was no harm in humoring her with a search for such a
I told her that we'd ask Santa.
She yawned, and agreed.
-----FAST-FORWARD TWO DAYS-----
All day yesterday I noticed that she was speaking to her stuffed animals, her dolls, and even to her father & me, in a British accent (!?!) To boot, she spent most of the weekend referring to her baby brother as "Lord Covington."
When I finally confronted about this, she responded in said accent "Oh, no worries Mu-tha. I'm just dreadfully silly and thought it funny to speak like this! Now will you please bring me some tea, Ms. Clavel?"
And that's when it hit me.
Oh.
my.
goodness.
Similar to the last 4 minutes of The Usual Suspects, the events of the past 72 hours began to flash before my eyes.
The impulsive hair cut.
The navy blue jumper.
The quest for the hat.
The British accent....
and now, calling me Miss Clavel!?!
At that exact moment, it became abundantly clear that my sweet little preschooler was actually trying to transform herself into the newest little idol in her life:
That's right, folks. Ava Lee was trying to become... Madeline.
I immediately asked her if the reason she chopped her hair off was to look like Madeline.
"But of cou-hhse, Mutha!" she responded
"And that's why you wanted the hat too? And that's why you've been talking in this silly voice?!"
She giggled. "Well, or COU-HHSE it is, dah-ling! Didn't you know that?"
Nope, sure didn't. I had no idea!
I was completely, utterly duped...by my very own five year old.
Clearly, hindsight is 20/20 and it all made perfect sense in retrospect. We had picked up the original Madeline DVD from the $5.00 section at Target two weeks prior, and she'd probably watched it ten times since. It quickly became her new favorite movie, and obviously Ms. Madeline herself quickly became a beacon of coolness and fashion in Ava's eyes.
In conclusion, I think it is adorable, and simultaneously impressive, that my little girl was secretly able to devise such an elaborate plan in her mind, (and almost pull it off too!) If nothing else, it is certainly a noteworthy entry for the baby book and a story she'll be able to tell her own daughter one day, and laugh about.
And lesson learned on this end, next time she expresses a sudden urgency to "trim" six whole inches from hair on a random Friday afternoon, perhaps I should investigate the underlying reasons. :-)
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