Fighting with Daisy about combing her hair has been the default mode for most of her life. It's almost a relief that the impossible-to-manage corkscrew curls of her toddler years have relaxed themselves into soft waves, but no relief for her, every combing is a traumatic event. I don't know what these kids do while they're asleep to wake up with such crazy tangles, but they do it, and it's my problem to solve.
Yesterday I stood her in the common area behind our apartment building and with great trepidation, cut her shoulder-length hair into what is almost a perfect bob. You can see there is some cleanup to be done; it is hard enough for a professional to get her to hold still for a precision cut and I am not a professional at anything, much less haircutting (cf. my own bangs, which are really just shameful, but when I decide they must be cut they must be cut NOW, not when I can schedule a trim).
Still, I think the wonky bob goes nicely with the plaid pants, aloha-print dress, and flowers-and-butterflies-print smock. And she claims it's the best haircut she's ever had. There were no complaints this morning when I combed it, making this the best Monday ever in life.
