Well, clearly, there was too much talk about weekend getaways and Martha Stewart-esque eggs.
At about 5pm, when Tom and I were desperately trying to make it until bedtime on our (maybe) five hours of sleep from the night before, Shep came running out of the back of the house screaming, “Ellery is cutting off all her hair!”
I was really hoping he was joking.
As I entered the bathroom, the first thing I saw was all her long, baby fine hair gathered around her feet. And the scissors. And my heart sinking into my shoes.
I suppose we’ve really beaten the odds so far, having three children and not one hair-cutting incident. And, of course, the one person who I trust to attempt to fix this mess will not be in until Wednesday. Until then, Ellery will be channeling her inner Billy Ray Cyrus, circa 1992. (We could change her name to Ella Ray Cyrus, perhaps?)
I completely cop to being a bit sad myself, as I never got a photo of her in pigtails, and now it will be months before that’s even possible.
Tom, however, is delighted that he can now audition for the boy band of his choice.