Last week, I gave in and let Daughter 2 and her bestie experience one of my most treasured childhood memories: I let them cut Barbie's hair. When I was a child, I used to love to cut hair. However, I didn't have permission to cut Barbie's hair when I was a child, so I normally crawled under my bed to cut her hair and my mom would find the evidence at a later date when she was cleaning my room. I opted to be the cool mom, though, and when they asked permission to give Barbie a new 'do, I said yes.
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| My apologies, Barbie! |
It wasn't until later that day, after Bestie went home, that I discovered Barbie sporting her new 'do on the piano with a razor next to her. Yes. I said razor.
I asked Daughter 2 what she was doing with my razor on the piano. Immediately, she threw Bestie (and Daughter 1!) to the wolves. "It wasn't my fault, momma! Bestie went into your shower and got it. But it didn't work on Barbie. Plus, we didn't even try to shave our legs.
