Audrey stared at the woman, studied her, trying to make sense of what I told her. 

“Girls, be on your BEST behavior.” I explained that one hairdresser at the salon didn’t like children. I had to bring all 3 of my young daughters with me. Margaret was 6; Hazel was 4; Audrey was 2.5 years. 

“Why doesn’t she like kids?” Audrey couldn’t stand the unfairness of blanket prejudice.

“I don’t know really. Kara just said she doesn’t. Maybe she thinks they’re too rowdy in the salon? But I just want you girls to be very well-behaved. All you can do is prove people wrong.” Hazel and Margaret nodded. 

“I’ll just go up and kick her.” Always Audrey.

Audrey Eva Rose born March 10, 2005. My third daughter in a row; she’s 11 now. She’s a natural comedian; you can’t fake that–you’re either born with it or you’re not. She is full of compassion for any underdog or injustice that she discovers. She is also full of sass. She was the youngest for 8.5 years, and I admit I let her get away with the most for many years. 

“Audrey. No. If you kick her, you will get a spanking from me. Do you understand? And you will make her hate kids more because she will think–this kid kicked me; all kids are brats.”

“Well…if she doesn’t like ME, then I don’t like HER.” Her scowl was adorable, but it also broke my heart. I can’t make this world a fair place for my girls. I can only help them cope their best in the world as it is. 

Hazel’s haircut was finished, and it was Audrey’s turn. Hazel moved cautiously, smiled shyly at the child-hater next to Kara, our hairdresser. The woman didn’t look at her. 

“Just trim it all over, maybe do a stack in the back. Audrey’s hair is finally growing, and it’s getting wispy on the ends.” My 3 oldest girls were all essentially bald until about 2 years old.

Audrey was turned away from the mirror. She was very still and quiet while the scissors snipped and tufts of fluff fell. 

Her eyebrows stayed knitted together, and she kept a close eye on the child-hater. Snip, snip…hair fluttered down…snip, snip…flutter, flutter.

“Well, what do you think?” Kara spun Audrey around to face the mirror again. She sprayed a light coat of hairspray. 

“I look like a MOM.” The pensive suspicion on Audrey’s face switched to toddler giggles instantly. She did have a Mom hairdo.

“My hair looks like hers.” She pointed to the child-hater. Audrey’s giggle is infectious. The lady didn’t look in our direction, but we didn’t need her approval. We joined Audrey in a lovely laugh at her silliness.

  “I look like a MOM.”


“What is that?” I pointed to the desk drawer across the room. I felt my stomach tighten. 

It looked like doll hair hanging out of the drawer, but it certainly looked like the exact color of Audrey’s hair. Audrey was 3.5 years old now, and her hair was finally getting long. 

“Looks like some doll hair.” Chad hoped. I opened the drawer. The hair wasn’t connected to a doll. And there was lots more. 

“This is Audrey’s hair.” We had gone out to eat, and her grandma had watched the girls that evening.

“Well there’s nothing we can do about it tonight. Just let her sleep, and you can check it out in the morning and make her an appointment to have it fixed.” Chad was always logical.

The next morning I woke Audrey up first thing. I needed to know if her hair was an inch long in places, or what the damage was exactly. 

“Come here, Audrey.” She was squinting and rubbing her eyes. “Did you cut your hair?”

The look on her face was like–oh yeah. I forgot about that. I was hoping it had been a dream. 

“Well…come here, let me see it.” Her hair was chin-length…in the front only, none was cut super short. She must have looked in the mirror and cut all that she could see, forgetting that hair also exists on the back of the head. Newscaster in the front, party in the back. 

“I’m sorry.” She must have realized that the desk drawer was not the best hiding place for her excess hair. 

“Well. I made you an appointment to have it fixed on Tuesday. But we might as well fix it like a proper mullet and take some good pics to remember this. Don’t cut your hair ever again.”

“Okay. I won’t.” And she hasn’t. Except for a few minor trims, she hasn’t cut her hair since that day. It is soooo long and beautiful. However, she is planning to cut off 8-10 inches this year to donate it.

I curled and teased and hairsprayed her mullet. I can’t stay mad at that sassy kid. She’s too much fun. She was pretty sad that she had to have her hair short again, but that sadness didn’t last long once she saw it.

“I look good.” She posed and posed. 
 Top 3 photos–mullet morning

Bottom 3 photos–I look good. 

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