Where the pretty ladies get their haircut

After a few HORRIBLE trips to a certain popular hair cutting chain to get Cora's haircut, I began trimming Cora's bangs at home. They were getting increasingly longer and shaggier and I was getting fed up with my terrible trims. So, Geron had a brilliant idea this week of what to do about Cora's hair.

It had been quite awhile since we'd been to that certain chain, long enough for Cora to forget the experience, I think. Geron flat out asked her "Cora, would you like to get your hair cut?" and she answered "Shes." (yes) Our jaws dropped and for a minute we were mute. Then, my genius of a husband began talking to our not-so-daring daughter about getting her hair cut. "Would you like to go to where all the pretty ladies get their hair cut? You can sit in a big chair and wear a pretty cape and have your hair fixed just like YaYa, etc, etc, etc." Cora is all about looking pretty and was eating up everything Geron said.

SO, this morning, I scheduled an appointment for Cora at the shop where her YaYa goes. We egged it on all morning and did everything we could to keep Cora in a good mood. All the while, I was in the mindset that she was going to throw the worst tantrum EV-ER and I would have to crawl out of the shop.

We arrived at the shop a little before her appointment. So, Cora and I sat on the wicker sofa and talked about all the things we saw in the salon. I showed her all the pretty ladies who were getting their hair styled and cut (most were over 65, I'd say.) But Cora didn't seem to notice that so much. She began chewing on her finger a little bit and that was my cue that things wouldn't go so swimmingly.

At one, the stylist came over and started talking to us about the cut and about Cora and her YaYa. I asked if it would be okay if Cora sat in my lap and she said it would be no problem at all. We walked to the chair and climbed in. The stylist was holding a black cape, which Cora noticed and said "I'm not going to wear that, Mommy. That's not mine." I ended up in the black cape. Then, first smooth move of the stylist, Cora got to wear a small purple cape. (she's all about purple right now.) Water bottle came out, squirt squirt squirt, combing began. Cora asked "is she brushing my hair, mommy?" "Yes." Didn't phase her. She looked around at all the equipment in the shop and we talked about what we saw and who we saw. I pulled out some gummies and Cora was in beauty shop heaven. In about 30 minutes, the cut was completed, Cora hopped out of the chair, drew a picture of her hair cut on a cabinet with a dry erase marker and strutted her new look around the shop. She looked good and she knew it. On the way home, we stopped and got her a milkshake.

I don't know what changed, but I know where we're going to get her hair cut from now on.

(thanks, June! And, Geron, you're brilliant! Don't think I don't notice)