So, we’ve learned a lesson this week: Mandy shall not be left unattended, even in the company of her sister. Last Saturday the two girls were playing upstairs while Ger and I ran down to the basement to do some stuff for a few minutes. When I came back up, I glanced at Mandy, who was standing in the kitchen. Right away I knew something was different about her, but my brain refused for the moment to identify exactly what change had happened in the last few minutes. It’s like looking at one of those magic dot pictures, you KNOW something is supposed to be there, but all you can see are dots.
After a few seconds, though, my fear started to coalesce from the general to the specific. “Mandy,” I said, “what happened to your hair?”
“She trimmed her own bangs!” Sam supplied cheerfully. “With my safety scissors!”
A few minutes later when Geralyn came up from the basement to see what the noise was all about, I was still yelling and both girls had fled underneath a desk. The refused for some time to come out.
Now, all things considered, Mandy actually didn’t do a bad job for her first foray into self-inflicted cosmetology. And at least she limited her extreme makeover to her bangs and one small, random patch on the back of her head. But she hacked them pretty short and that part of her hair had just recently gotten so long and lovely. It just looks decidedly worse now, with her bangs making a jagged scar across her forehead at about a 30-degree angle. Alas.
Of course, the most amusing part of the whole story is that being the neatnick she was, she apparently took each newly liberated lock to the kitchen trash can and deposited it there, leaving not a single strand on the floor. At least she’s consistent.
Sam also had her own escapades, though these were more of a theological nature. On Wednesday nights Geralyn and I have been attending a class hosted at a local church. I’m not sure what exact flavor Christianity the place is, other than it is not Catholic. At any rate, they offer childcare for the girls, with Mandy going in the nursery and Sam attending a class for “Daisies” which is –and I quote from the organizer– “like a Christian version of the Girl Scouts.” Which is good, because we all know the kind of loose morals that drive those foul Girl Scouts to their misdeeds.
At any rate, Sam loves going to The Daisies, presumably in no small part due to the cupcakes and the chance to bend new children to her will. But apparently that’s not the only reason. The other day at dinner Sam asked, “Can I get baptised with the Daisies at the end of the class?”
This question apparently didn’t make much sense at first to Geralyn, who was raised Catholic and has so far realized a similar plan for Sam. “Sammy,” she said in the voice of someone who knows she’s probably missing something, but doesn’t quite see it yet, “you’ve already been baptized.”
“No,” Sam said, “I mean for real.”
Having been raised Southern Baptist and thus more familiar with the Protestants’ habit of dunking things in water, I was having a pretty good laugh at the other end of the table while Sister Amanda Francesca sat across from Sam and gave her a stern glare. What followed was an impromptu –and thoroughly clumsy– attempt at explaining world religions to a five year old. Somewhere around Hinduism Sam broke in and told us that a) she had had enough of this nonsense, and b) she wanted a desert.
It remains to be seen if she will be held under any body of water.