|Never mind the face paint. We were at a|
Purim carnival today.
I am positive that L will never impulsively cut her own hair again; we never needed to say a single word to make that come true. We've found the sweet gracious spot of nurturing her through the consequences of that day, and her private monthly ritual with Anna and the tall chair have become special to her. The second child of three doesn't usually have much to call just her own, but she has Anna, and the shampoo chair, and visiting with the little doggie who spends its days roaming the salon floor.
How long until my ponytails?! L asks or demands of Anna in lieu of greeting. "By summer, I think," Anna responded today. And L scrunched her nose in smile at her reflection in the mirror, at Anna's face behind her own.
She's so little in the big chair, so grown in her demeanor, and then small again how she can't resist making faces at her reflection. She's poised, incredibly so, through this public extension of an momentary decision. She doesn't like her hair short but doesn't begrudge the speed of its growth.
It's quite a character lesson, the patience of growing out hair, and it's being fittingly lived out my this girl who's quite a character. And so we visit the salon, and we measure its progress, and we book our next appointment.