Earlier this week, the kids and I were getting ready for our days. I was running back and forth between bedrooms, putting away clothes and chasing down a toddler to put on his pants. Exciting, life-changing stuff. Somewhere between putting on his socks and finding a home for those freshly-laundered pajamas, the little man escaped to join his sister who was happily playing in her bouncer in the next room.
A few moments passed as I organized Nathaniel's closet before he came back into the room. With an excited gleam in his eye, he looked straight at me and announced, "CUT! EVIE! HAIR!"
In that moment, a thousand thoughts went through my head.
He cut his sister's hair?! Good grief, is she okay? Did he injure her with the scissors? How did he find a scissors anyway? The panic started to mount and I dropped the laundry back into it's basket as I ran into Evelyn's room.
The toddler was on my heels as I went through the door to see Evie laying in her bouncer, giggling happily at her toy owl... with all of her hair intact. And that was when Nathaniel walked over to the hairbrush lying on the floor, picked it up and began to brush her hair.
"HAIRCUT, MAMA!"
If this isn't the source of gray hair, I don't know what is.