Witch Barbie Got Scalped

Bella has recently turned 9, but it seems as if she's stuck on fast-forward and is now a ripe and rowdy 13 year old.  Sassy with a capital Frassy. The sassier and surlier she becomes, the more coffee I tend to drink.

This morning I easily consumed at least 6 cups of coffee.  Real cups.  Delicious cups.  I realize now, that perhaps it was over-kill.  In addition to making me feel very productive, it also apparently sharpened my senses and my tongue.  So while I was putting away some skiing stuff, Thanksgiving sleep-over items and some remaining Halloween straggler items, Bella came up and asked me to put her Barbie's hair in a "nice, tight twisty bun, because she is a teacher."  I took one look at said Barbie, narrowed my eyes and said, "Oh, my.  Did you cut her hair?  Of course you did. SHE LOOKS HORRIBLE."

Now, I was stating the truth.  She truly did.  I'm pretty sure she was a Halloween Witch Barbie with an orange and black streak that now was missing--starting at the scalp.  As was a large chunk of her hair on the underside of her head.  And many, many layers were gone in... all sorts of areas.  I couldn't care less about the cutting. I kind of hate Barbies.   But I DID care about how the conversation progressed.

"....No.  No I didn't cut it."
"Well, doggone, honey.  Of course you did.  It's obvious."
"...I don't know who did that and she DOESN'T LOOK HORRIBLE."
"Um...I beg to differ.  I DO know who did and she really does look horrible.  I mean if I took a chunk of my hair from here (and I grabbed a chunk) and here (and I grabbed another) and I whacked it off, I would look horrible too."

It was at this moment that Bella's upper lip began to tremble.  She grabbed the Barbie from me and said very stiffly:
"Okay.  Thank you for your help. I'd like to go now.  I didn't do it and she DOESN'T look horrible."

Then she retreated to the sanctuary of her room, closed the door and began to sob quietly.  So I waited for about 10 minutes and went in to apologize for hurting her feelings.  She still denied that she did it in a way I HATE which is to say, "I don't remember IF I did it.  It's been like this for MONTHS!  I have a SISTER, you know.  She may have done it."

"Hmmm.  Yes, you do have a sister, but no, she didn't do it. We both know this.  I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, but honestly, I've cut enough doll hair in my life to know a thing or two about this.  It NEVER works out.  Never.  It will NEVER look as good as you think it will when you get the idea to cut it.  And just so you know, this also applies to cutting your own hair, which I also have done and REGRETTED many times in my life."

She was lucky I didn't go into telling her how supportive undergarments will also be an immense let-down and a regret should she ever decide to buy and wear them at any point in her life.  And that prom will suck.  Why must I ruin?  Why must I lecture a teachable moment away?  Why must I take these minimal consequence learning opportunities out of my child's child-hood.

Plus, I still use a hot-glue gun to repair holes in my jeans, so I really can't judge, now can I?

The lying makes me grumpy, but then again, it's the end of November.  The upcoming holiday frenzy makes me grumpy.  The sudden lack of daylight makes me grumpy--it's all gray outside and...coldish...and gross.  Which is why I tend to over-caffeinate.

Besides.  The overt ugliness of the Barbie's hair will most likely teach her more than my lecturing.  Natural consequences only work when you don't lecture them down the drain.  The lying will most likely take care of itself through natural consequences as well.  Like the missing hair from ugly, scalped Witch Barbie, a lie can never be hidden.  She'll learn that too. 

Tomorrow, perhaps I'll lay off the coffee a touch.  Or at least not try to match her, cup for sass.  That's a contest that no one can win. Plus, maybe it's best that I don't have "Spidee senses".  In fact, I'm pretty sure that sometimes as a mom, it's best to just go glassy-eyed and not worry about the details.  Witch Barbie wasn't "all that" to begin with.  In fact, she was sort of trashy.  Now she just looks like the really popular girl from "Sixteen Candles" after they cut her hair out of the door.  Talk about natural consequences.  No one lectured that girl, they just watched her stumble down the steps. 

Less lecturing, more stumbling, and maybe decaf--my mantra for tomorrow.

Send a friend a postcard to show you still care and you need to get together for coffee to discuss your dysfunctional children. 

Cranky Mommy's Decaf Postcard

  Decaf style.