We go to a fun kids' salon called Divas and Dudes, where even ordinary haircuts are accompanied by a special braid, glittery hairspray, and a lollipop, so of course they make a big deal of first haircuts. As we crossed the parking lot and I pointed out the sign, Kate and I had the following conversation:
Kate: "Am I a diva or a dude?"
Me: "You're a dude."
Kate: "What's a dude?"
Me: "A really cool person."
I'm glad she didn't ask me what a diva was, since I'm not sure what I would say. I have a complicated relationship with the sparkly pinkification of girlhood these days. (The aforementioned dance was actually called the "Daddy's Lil' Princess Ball," I believe, a fact we made little of.) It's complicated because I enjoy the hairbows and tea parties and other girly stuff (I desperately wanted daughters, after all!) but I don't like this commercialized obsession with princesses and miniature pop stars and pink everything.
Back to the point, though... Kate had a lovely time at our family salon appointment.
Claire. Did. Not.
So as soon as she realized this haircutting procedure could not be done while attached to Mommy, she wanted no part of it. (In retrospect, I should have suggested holding her on my lap while getting the cut, but I didn't think of that. Kate had zero trouble at her own first haircut, so I was really not expecting this. Though I should have, knowing them both.) Matt likes to tell the story of how he wailed so uncontrollably during his first haircut, his mom went into labor, and that's how his brother got here.
Claire was fine once back in my arms, of course, and she got her little tiara and special "first haircut" certificate with lock of hair. Her lock of hair looks as dark as mine, though I generally think of her hair as a bit more like golden-straw. Our family of brunettes gets progressively lighter, the younger we go.
With her cute little hairdo, I thought she looked a little like Marta or Gretl from The Sound of Music.
So as to avoid Kate falling asleep in the car during an afternoon car ride (and thus, messing up the hair) we decided to make our salon trip right before the dance. So Daddy in his lavender shirt and purple tie, and Kate in her raspberry dress and raspberry tights, headed off to the dance and Claire and I headed home for... more compulsive nursing.
Matt is such a great dad, and I love how he loves his girls and cherishes time with them. I remember sitting in the pediatrician's office with him when Kate was just a teeny infant, and I saw an ad for a daddy-daughter tea party or some such thing in a local magazine in the waiting room. I pointed it out to him, not sure if he would be into something like that or not. "Oh, hell yeah," he said. He couldn't wait to do stuff like that with his sweet daughter, and that baby—now such a big girl, it seems—absolutely has him wrapped around her little finger. Both these girls are so lucky to have such a devoted daddy.
Oh, and by the way, all the girls at the dance got a little tiara, so this post might also be called, "How an Anti-Princess Mom Allowed Both Daughters to Get Tiaras in One Evening."
|via Matt's Facebook, at the dance|