On the one hand, Lilia is a girly girl who dreams of having long, flowing princess locks, as she did as a toddler. On the other, she hates having hair in her eyes, and having too much hair probably makes her feel hot in her un-air-conditioned classroom. (On a slightly unrelated note, her teacher complained to me that Lilia was always twirling the strands of hair near her temples, instead of concentrating on the teacher’s words, and maybe I should cut it although she’d just had a hair cut.)
At any rate, Lilia hacked off her hair again.
We had a little talk last time about how she should ask us to take her to the beauty salon if she wants her hair trimmed. I thought she understood. Maybe she forgot. Or maybe, as her phsyical therapist once suggested, Lilia is a child passionately interested in communicating her point of view, but not so interested in what other people have to say. Also, she is very proud of what she can do all by herself. She expected me to be happy when I saw her shorn head and the pile of hair, just as she expects me to be impressed when I find her trying to put a plate of leftover spaghetti in the microwave (although she doesn’t know how to use it!) instead of waiting for me to cook supper.
Her feelings were actually hurt when she saw my crestfallen face. “I don’t cut my own hair,” I signed to her. “Papa doesn’t cut his own hair either.” I made her promise not to ever cut her hair again. We locked pinkies over this. And I’m going to hide the scissors.