Beauty...and the Beast

Anna, my youngest, is a budding beautician. As soon as I walk through the door she excitedly yells, "I do yours hair!?" (She's 2) That proclamation is followed by an armful of combs, brushes, ponytail holders, and "bangs", which for some reason is what she calls a curling iron (not plugged in, of course.) I used to really enjoy having my hair played with. Now? Not so much. She hurts. She combs my hair from the bottom up. I'm not sure my hair is going to make it through this phase. It's already breaking off. If I suggest that I do her hair for a change, she informs me that her babysitter, Sheri, is the only one who does her hair. Sounds a bit like her dad. No one else but Jamie touches his head!

Anyway, wherever I land, I have a pile of hair products directly behind me. Maybe I'll cut my hair off. I think not.