She got shorter.

Well, her hair did anyway. About eight inches shorter.

Kaylee has been playing with scissors here at Grammy's all week. (No surprise, as cutting paper is one of her favorite things to do.) So I didn't think twice when she got them out last night. She cuts circles and squares and triangles and random other shapes and fast forward to:

Daddy! Look at me! (Complete with shit-eating grin)

What did you ...

I cut my hair! (Proudly displaying a handful of brown locks) Do you like ...

PUT THOSE DOWN. GO. GO TALK TO YOUR MOTHER.

And cue the waterworks.

I feel a little bad. I've been teasing her about cutting her hair for months now. In fact, I've been hoping to chop off the hair for quite some time. The only reason we haven't done it up until now is because Mom wasn't ready to let it go. But the kid kinda forced our hand. (See previous post for the proof.)

I think she was just trying to do what she thought Dad wanted her to do. Poor kid. She should know better than to trust me on any hair-related matters.

So this morning, we walked over to the local beauty salon. Kaylee was the youngest client by about 60 years. But she hopped up into that chair and was so excited as the inches fell off. I wish I had taken more pictures, she made faces I've never seen before.

Mom made it through - though she refused to watch most of it. But she seems genuinely pleased with the results.

Besides, it'll grow back.