It's the day mothers of little girls dream about. The day their daughters' hair can be assembled into super cute pigtails.
Abby's hair has finally started to grow. But it grew over her face and those wispy strands landed in her eyes. Abby was bothered. She thought she constantly had sand in her eyes. So. . .I barely had time to grab the camera before the husband did this:
And, yes. Those are dollar-store scissors touching my firstborn's gentle locks. The horror. (Actually, he did a semi-decent job at getting a straight cut.)
To tidy up Greg's work, we took Abby to a salon. She loved it. She loved the chair and the apron and the big mirror. She sat still while the stylist did her magic.
And, what haircut is complete without a little frozen yogurt afterwards?
Abby got a certificate with a lock of her hair attached to it.
Abby, hold up your certificate so Mommy can take a picture.
Turn it around.
No, hold it so Mommy can see the front.
Oh well.
