Piercing

I got my ears pierced when I was 9-years old...only thanks to my little sister Melissa, who was 6 at the time. Imagine my father with a bunch of daughters, all clamoring to get their ears pierced...and he was resisting, not sure he was ready for that yet. One evening Melissa was trying her best to convince her Daddy that young as she was, she was ready to take this big step when my Dad pulled out a big safety pin. One of those enormous ones that were used when pinning cloth diapers. He said something along the lines of "Okay, if you want your ears pierced so badly, I'll just do it right here and now." He was clearly bluffing. But Melissa balled up her fists, screwed her eyes shut tight and said, "Okay...I'm ready!" Bluff called, my Dad was very impressed. If she was serious enough about getting her ears pierced that she was willing to let him do it right then and there with a safety pin, well maybe she really was ready. My mom took Melissa and Katie to get their ears pierced a few days later, and me a few days after that.

When Rebekah and Julianne started talking about earrings, Bryan resisted just like my father. He liked the idea of maybe waiting till they were 18-years old. I told him I got mine done at age 9. We decided to compromise at 12. But just like Melissa did with my father, Julianne and Rebekah both went about softening up their Daddy. It was Julianne's 8-year old logic and reasoning that convinced him, rather than the puppy dog eyes that 9-year old Rebekah was employing. Julianne gave him all the reasons why she wanted her ears pierced, how she would maintain care as they were healing, and the ways in which she would show responsibility in keeping track of and taking care of her various pairs of earrings as she collected them over time. Julianne's well thought out answers impressed Bryan in the same sort of way that Melissa's bravery impressed my father. And Bryan relented. I took the girls to the mall a few days later.

Lilian turned 8-years old last summer. She'd already been talking about earrings for a few years. I knew we'd have to wait until at least 8-years old before Bryan would reluctantly consent to letting his baby get her ears pierced. After the skipping over Brandon years, enough time had passed that he was back to the "are you sure we can't wait till she's 18?" line of thinking. When I did finally tell Lilian that she was old enough, she was so surprised with the change from "not yet" to "okay sure...want to go today?" that she actually backed off for a few months more...not truly sure she was ready after all. Fear of pain and all of that.

But eventually, Lilian decided she was ready and schedules aligned enough that we found a small window of opportunity to run over the mall on a Monday evening after taking Brandon to gymnastics. Julianne came along for moral support and a hand to squeeze. We went to the same little kiosk where I had taken her older sisters years earlier. And after picking out some pink sparkly star studs (because Lilian is all about anything that sparkles) she settled herself onto the tall stool and prepared herself for the big moment. The piercing lady assured her that she would hardly feel it, so she was a little annoyed when it hurt more than she was led to believe. A loud and indignant "Ouch!!!" came out of her mouth. But the pain was not enough to bring tears...and probably was exactly as much as Julianne and I had previously told her that it would hurt. She was absolutely delighted to see the end result and stared at the mirror with a big grin on her face for quite awhile after the deed was done.

We're still in the cleaning and twisting phase of healing. Three more weeks or so until she can take the studs out and pick other fun earrings to wear.

Toddlers vs Teenagers

Remember when your child left her lunch or homework folder home and it was just a quick jaunt up the road and around the corner to the school to drop it off in the front office? Rebekah left a very important folder home this past weekend...one that is rather crucial to a project she is working on in one of her classes at Utah State University. And so today that quick jaunt up the road to drop it off, was actually a lengthier jaunt up the freeway, through Sardine Canyon, and down into Cache Valley....a good hour plus of drive time. And it was worth it because though the folder was the top priority, she also needed an external keyboard to replace the one that is not working on her laptop, and her new glasses that I told her I'd pick up at ShopKo. Plus, her car is acting funny so I drove Julianne's car to Logan and did a swap...bringing Rebekah's home to see if we can figure out what the problem is.

I always thought that once my children got older, my life would get easier...that I would have more free time. And while in some respects that is true, in others it most definitely is not. And I've come to the conclusion that having teenagers is just as busy as having toddlers...it's just a different kind of busy. However, there are a few things that for me at least, I've discovered to be unexpectedly harder as a parent of teens.

     *When my children were young it took a lot of effort to get us all ready and to church on time. Physically getting each of them up, dressed, hair done, fed, etc was very time consuming and somewhat stressful. But strangely enough, we have an even harder time getting ready for church in a timely manner now than we did back then. Although I still have to help Lilian, the teens obviously can get themselves up and ready. And maybe that's where the problem lies? It's now out of my control somewhat. I do wake-up call, after wake-up call....but after two nights of being out late on weekend dates, parties and friend hangouts, they are tired. And after two nights of waiting up for them, so am I. I'm often frustrated and frazzled by the time we get to church.

     *Potty training sucks. It really does. I'm not trying to put any rosy spin on it. But teaching a teenager to drive, in my opinion, is worse. Those state mandated 40 hours of parent accompanied drive time are incredibly inconvenient, even if I do agree with the reasons behind it. And did I mention dangerous? And scary?? And frustrating??? Believe it or not, I'd rather potty train a toddler...I really would! (That being said, both potty training and teaching a kid to drive both come with awesome rewards when the task is complete.)

    *When I had toddlers and most of our days consisted of home time, I was always looking for any excuse to get out of the house, despite having younglings in tow. "I have to go grocery shopping today? Hooray!" Now I am running around so much with gymnastics and theatre class and trips to the craft store for supplies for a school project...or various concerts, soccer games, conferences with the school counselor, prom dress shopping, etc....that I'm always yearning for a day where I don't actually have to go anywhere. "I don't want to go grocery shopping....can't I just stay home???"

Can they entertain themselves most of the time? Yes. Are they now my good friends, as well as my children? Yes. Can they feed themselves if I'm not in the mood to make dinner? Yes. Can they do their own homework? Usually. But is my life any less busy? Nope.

A new smile

My baby lost her first tooth on Sunday. She's been itching for a loose tooth for months now.
"When, when, when???" has been her constant mantra.
Apparently she's the very last kid in her 1st grade class to actually lose a tooth. Important stuff, losing teeth. At least when you are 6-years old.

I think she thought that as soon as the tooth became loose it would only be a matter of hours before the thing came out.
Weeks.
That's how long it took.
I had to talk her out of tying a piece of string around the tooth and attaching it to a pot that she'd then throw over the stair railing...something her older sister Rebekah suggested as something she had done when she was her age. But only because it was nowhere near that ready.

But then she started chickening out when the time came to actually yank it. Probably because she was getting conflicting advice from her parents...her dad telling her to leave it alone till it fell out on its own and her mom assuring her that just a quick yank would be all it took to get that wiggly thing out of there once and for all.

She finally agreed to the yank and out it came, easy peasy.
She ran down the street to show her new smile to friend Sophie. Sophie had just lost her first tooth five days earlier.
"Mom! It's the exact same tooth! We are TWINS!"
Later as I put her to bed with the tooth tucked securely under her pillow she said, "You know...Sophie got two dollars for her tooth. Are you going to give me that much too so we can still be twins?"

Yes, my child does not believe in the Tooth Fairy. She asked for truth and I answered. But like her siblings before her, she still wanted the tradition of it all. So under the pillow in a special tooth shaped box it went.

Funny back story: When Rebekah was in 1st grade and still had a mouthful of baby teeth, she asked if the Tooth Fairy was real or if it was just me. I hemmed and hawed and tried to side-step the question. She was having none of it and wanted the truth of it all. I told her the Tooth Fairy was me. She accepted it gracefully and went on with her day.
A couple of weeks later she came home in a tizzy. "Mom!" she said. "You were wrong...the Tooth Fairy IS real!" When I questioned her further she told me that a friend at school had lost his first tooth. The Tooth Fairy had come and left him some coins. She assumed that since she was the oldest and we hadn't ever had the experience yet, clearly I just didn't realize that the Tooth Fairy was indeed real...and out collecting baby teeth and leaving money in their place. Ignorance on my part.
I figured if she wanted to believe that much, who was I to argue?
But she's a smart kid and after losing a tooth or two, she asked again. And this time took my word for it. None of my kids have really believed since then.

Funny, isn't it...that the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny seem completely out of the realms of believability for my children but Santa Claus is totally realistic? Granted, I've never pushed the fairy and the bunny like I do the big, jolly elf...so maybe it's on me.
With 3 teenaged siblings, I often wonder how long she'll accept Santa as real...especially if she's the only one in the household who still believes. I figure we only have a couple more years at most. She's an inquisitive child and like her sister Julianne before her, very perceptive.

And yes. I did leave her two dollars in exchange for the tooth so she could be "twins" with Sophie.
And also had a conversation with her about not ruining the Tooth Fairy magic for her friends who still believe....

The Wiffer Girl

 Lilian is my near constant companion. She follows me around everywhere. She accompanies me on errands, taxi driving, rehearsals and voice lessons. We watch TV together, read together, cook together, many times she climbs in my bed at night and we even go to sleep together. But there are plenty of evenings when I have things going on where she gets told "no, you have to stay home." She doesn't like that. She likes to be my buddy, go where I go. So there have been many times where I am leaving to the sound of her tears and complaints.

When Bryan tells her that she can't go, that she needs to stay home with him this time, she'll tearfully reply "But I want to go wiff her!" Struggling with the TH sound in with, Bryan teases her about being the "wiffer girl."

So when I had to reschedule my ticket date to see Hale Centre Theatre's Chitty Chitty Bang Bang I decided to add an extra ticket and bring the Wiffer Girl with me. After all, when her older siblings were her age, I took each one of them to see their first musical at Hale. Rebekah saw Seven Brides For Seven Brothers, Julianne saw Annie, and with Brandon, it was Beauty and the Beast. So maybe it was time to bring Lilian wiff me to see Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

And now neither one of us can get the song out of our heads....

Words

I've  heard a lot of people say that they simply have no words when it comes to the Sandy Hook shooting in Connecticut. Meaning I suppose, that the horror is so overwhelming that no words can describe the depth of feeling. And I get that.

The thing is...I have a lot of words. The first words out of my mouth when I read about the tragedy on Friday morning were raw, rough, and filled with emotional rage. They weren't pretty words, they weren't comforting words. They weren't even words of grief. I was furious and frightened. I was glad that my children didn't hear those words or see their mother that way.

The rage spent (or at least at bay for the time being), then came the words of grief. And of warning. Lilian, I had planned to shield. My 5-year old Kindergartner...she I could hopefully keep this from. I didn't want to burden her with the fear of this. How lucky I am that for me and my family it can be that way. There are plenty of young children Lilian's age that saw and heard and now know things that they should not have to at this age. There are plenty of children Lilian's age that are now dead. Unlike far too many parents, this is not something I have to deal with. Thank God. But my other children...they needed to know.

Rebekah and Julianne had already heard, which was to be expected. But Brandon...an elementary age child himself, 6th grade...he had not heard the news. It was horrifically ironic. Just two days earlier he and his friend had asked me a question. "Why is The Matrix rated 'R', Mom?" When I told them that it was because of violence, Brandon downplayed it in a kind of incredulous, disgusted sort of way. "Violence, really? What's the big deal about violence?" Violence in movies and games, I explained, was dangerous. Because the more frequently you watch, the more graphic the violent images you let into your mind, the more you kill the aliens and bad guys in first person shooter games...the easier it is to become desensitized. The violence isn't shocking anymore. And it becomes all too easy to say exactly that..."What's the big deal about violence?" And then I told them about Columbine High. It happened before they were born and somehow they had never heard about the horrors that had happened there, the grief, the questions, the lessons learned. I found my computer search engine open to archived news reports of Columbine High later that evening. I was glad they had taken me seriously.
So it was with tears pouring down my face that I told Brandon of the Sandy Hook shooting. "This is why." I told him. "27 people are dead, 20 of them children. Because of violence." Obviously we don't know all the reasons why the shooter did what he did, what was going through his head. But clearly, violence IS a big deal.

Monday morning I sent my children off to school. Rebekah pulled out of the driveway in her own car heading to the high school. Julianne was picked up by her junior high carpool. I watched as Brandon and Lilian headed off to the bus stop down the street. And then waited on the cold front porch for a few minutes longer than usual as I watched the bus pull away. But I wasn't scared for their safety. And thankfully, neither were they.

An hour later I myself, was at the elementary school. Mondays are my day to volunteer for Brandon's teacher. And as I sat out in the common area stuffing folders with homework and PTA fliers...I could see children walking past me, hear teachers through open classroom doors teaching their students. I thought about Sandy Hook elementary and suddenly, though I had bounced between rage and grief all weekend long, it became all the more real to me being there in my children's elementary school. And I realized I was decidedly sick to my stomach. Very literally nauseous. I finished my task and with fresh awareness, walked through the halls to the office where I signed myself out as a volunteer, and then out the doors to my truck. I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road and started to cry.

I don't know why this happened. It doesn't make any sense. I can't claim to understand what those parents are going through...the ones who have lost children, or the ones who haven't but are living through a different kind of horror. I can have sympathy and I can pray. And while I do so, I'll hug my own children a little bit tighter.

So, yes...for me, there ARE words. And right now I think the most important thing to use my words for, is to do this....

I can't keep up....

I suppose I should look on the bright side of things and be grateful that Lilian and her various friends are using their imaginations, interacting with each other and taking in the fresh air rather than sitting on their pockets in front of the TV or computer.  Right?  Right?!

This past week....
*Daily mud pies....which translates into not only filthy feet, hands and clothes, but also floors, bathroom sinks and doorknobs. And a constantly muddy front porch.  Not to mention finding many of my kitchen utensils and cups buried partway in my flower beds.
*Play Doh and Moon Dough mixed together and all over the kitchen floor.  (And yes, believe it or not, Doh and Dough...they are spelled differently for each product.  I actually looked it up to make sure...)
*Curtains accidentally pulled down from my sitting room.  I'm not talking about the rod with the panels just falling on the floor...I'm talking about the brackets completely ripped from the wall.  (Sigh.)
*The linen closet unloaded onto the floor in the hallway to make way for "beds" on the shelves.

Not to mention the un-pictured bikes and trikes on the trampoline, the cardboard boxes in the driveway surrounded by markers and crayons as Lilian and friends created a box city and the paint (thankfully washable) all over the kitchen table.  I guess I should be grateful, if not a little surprised, that I don't have a tent made out of love sacs, blankets and pillows downstairs....that's usually a popular one.

Germ-a-phobe?

Lilian has been a little paranoid and obsessed about her health lately.  Constant questions about germs and how her little body works.   Last week at the pool we told her not to drink the water because it had chlorine in it.  Countless questions later Lilian knew that chlorine was used to kill germs in the water.  Why?  Because human bodies can be dirty or sometimes little kids go potty in the water.  All in all, chlorine is good.  Then why can't she drink it?  Because chlorine in large quantities isn't good for your body.  What if she gets some in her mouth when jumping into the pool?  That's okay...nothing to worry about if it's just a little bit.  But what happens if you get too much?  Oh, maybe diarrhea.  Lilian whimpered the rest of the day about the possibility of diarrhea and declared she was never going to Cherry Hill again.  Sigh.

Yesterday I took Julianne, Rebekah  and some friends to the pet store to buy fish.  Lilian tagged along.  I waited in the car and was informed when they returned that this particular store only had fancy fish.  Which meant we needed to drive to a pet store in a neighboring town to find the cheapy .15 cent fish they were after.  With my car filled to bursting with chattering teenage girls, I didn't really pay much attention to Lilian behind me in her car seat.  I did hear some comments (accompanied by giggling) that made me aware of the fact that Lilian was asleep with her mouth wide open...which meant she was drooling.  My only thought was that when we arrived at the next pet store, Lilian would obviously be staying in the car with me.  And yes...when the girls hopped out of the truck and I looked back, Lilian's mouth was open so wide I could practically look down her throat.  I chuckled a little and thought nothing more.  Who hasn't fallen asleep with their mouth open at one time or another?

After a few minutes Julianne came running out to inform me that in order to buy fish an adult was needed.  Seriously?  This necessitated waking up Lilian....which she was none to thrilled about.  But she refused to close her mouth, crying and mumbling something about poison.  Huh?  A bad dream, maybe?  I couldn't get much out of her because she was grumpy and groggy.  (And talking none too clearly with her mouth wide open.)  But she was determinedly stubborn about not closing her mouth.  She was insistent that she needed to wash her mouth and me just wiping my hand across her lips was not cutting it.  By the time I got into the store and found the gaggle of girls, I was at my wits end.  When I explained that Lilian seemed to be freaking out about poison on her lips Rebekah at least had the grace to look chagrined.  And then the story came out.

Apparently at the last pet store Lilian had been looking at the parakeets and making blowfish kisses at them on their glass cage.  Rebekah was horrified (as rightly she should've been) and told her to stop...that the cage was dirty.  And then described the bird messes as poisonous.  Now, Lilian wasn't sucking on a barred cage or anything.  So realistically there likely wasn't any sort of bird poop or anything equally as nasty... probably just human hand germs.  Still gross, certainly...but still.  In her defense, Rebekah was just being a responsible older sister and had no idea that Lilian would get so freaked out.

Once hearing the story I tried to reason with Lilian.  Nope.  No amount of reassurance from me would shut that mouth.  I took her to the drinking fountain and told her to run the water over her lips.  She refused that also as not quite good enough to get the "poison" off her lips.  I had to take her into the bathroom and scrub her lips and surrounding face over and over and over.  And then thoroughly wipe her mouth with paper towels before she'd even consider closing her mouth.  And even then, though she allowed me to take her back to the fish area to meet back up with the girls, it took awhile before she dared truly close her mouth again.

Sigh.  I sure hope I don't have a future germ-a-phobe on my hands.

Father of Bride

I used to think a wedding was a simple affair. Boy and girl meet, they fall in love, he buys a ring, she buys a dress, they say I do. I was wrong. That's getting married. A wedding is an entirely different proposition. I know. I've just been through one. Not my own, my daughter's. Annie Banks Mackenzie. That's her married name: Mackenzie. You fathers will understand. You have a little girl. An adorable little girl who looks up to you and adores you in a way you could never have imagined. I remember how her little hand used to fit inside mine. Then comes the day when she wants to get her ears pierced, and wants you to drop her off a block before the movie theater. From that moment on you're in a constant panic. You worry about her meeting the wrong kind of guy, the kind of guy who only wants one thing, and you know exactly what that one thing is, because it's the same thing you wanted when you were their age. Then, you stop worrying about her meeting the wrong guy, and you worry about her meeting the right guy. That's the greatest fear of all, because, then you lose her. It was just six months ago that that happened here. Just six months ago, that the storm broke.

Father of the Bride is one of my all time favorite movies.  You know the one, right...with Steve Martin?  This movie came out when I was in college.  I saw it at the one-movie-a-week Ephraim theater with my roommate Leslie.  She must've thought I was a little nuts when I see-sawed back and forth between uproarious laughter and sentimental tears throughout the entire movie.  But that movie made an impact on me, hit me pretty hard.  And I'm sure it was because, though I wasn't engaged at the time, I knew it was getting close.  Even then, the movie reminded me of my Dad.  Which became all the more humorous when I did actually get engaged and start planning a wedding...to find that my Dad was reacting in very similar ways to Steve Martin's character.  Oh, not to the same extremes, of course.  He didn't get arrested for stealing hot dog buns or anything like that.  But the decisions to be made of how many guests, where to hold the reception, the "Please don't make me wear a tux!!" plea, and how much everything was going to cost....mingled in with his emotions of losing his oldest daughter.  

Who presents this woman? This woman? But she's not a woman. She's just a kid. And she's leaving us. I realized at that moment that I was never going to come home again and see Annie at the top of the stairs. Never going to see her again at our breakfast table in her nightgown and socks. I suddenly realized what was happening. Annie was all grown up and was leaving us, and something inside began to hurt. 

 This quote from Father of the Bride makes me cry every single time of the countless times I have viewed the movie.  Thinking back....it was the night before I got married.  I was puttering around downstairs taking care of last minute items.  Taking a shower, setting out my clothes I was going to wear on the way to the temple the next day, making sure I had my new pearl earrings my parents had given me to wear with my wedding dress, etc.  On one pass of the countless back and forthing through the hall, I saw my parents coming down the stairs together.  My Dad lightly grabbed my arm to stop me from walking past.  And then, to my complete astonishment, he picked me up...all 19-years and 100 lbs of me...and carried me to my bedroom.  He set me down gently on my bed and pulled the covers up around my chin, tucking me in like I was a little girl again.  He kneeled on one side of my bed, my mom on the other and then he proceeded to give me a fathers blessing.  I don't remember the words of the blessing.  Only the feeling of love and protection.  And then when he was done, he wrapped his arms around me, and cried.  I'd never seen my Dad cry before.

Last night I saw Father of the Bride in a play version at Hale Centre Theatre.  And as I sat there I had a mix of emotions.  Thinking back to my own time as a bride, yes.  But also about my own first born daughter.  Rebekah turns 16 tomorrow.  I met Bryan when I was that age.  She's already got boys clamoring for dates, waiting anxiously.  Oh, a wedding is still a few years out, certainly...and if she doesn't get married when she is 19 like I did, well...I'm not going to be upset about that!  But it will come and seeming all too soon, is my guess.  And then we'll have another Father of the Bride situation at our house.    

The newest Temple Run champion

I've succumbed.
I always swore my iphone would not become a toy for my 4-year old.
Oh, I had a few games on it...Angry Birds, Fruit Ninja and the like.  Not that I knew how to play them...Brandon installed them to keep himself occupied on the long and frequent drives to gymnastics.  But Lilian didn't know any of this and I wanted to keep it that way.  That last thing I wanted was for her to realize the iphone potential for entertainment.  I have friends who purposely load their phones with not only kid friendly games but also movies and music and swear it's a life saver for those long drives in the car, waiting in lines, grocery shopping with the kid in the cart, etc.  And while I could see the purpose behind it, I wanted none of that.  My iphone was MINE.  I didn't want to have to be running around the house trying to figure out where Lilian left my phone.  I didn't want the risks involved...the potential for dropping, breaking, or ruining my phone.  I've heard comical stories of kids sending accidental text messages from the contact list, buying apps, calling random people, etc.  And nope...that was not for me.

But then Rebekah loaded Temple Run onto my phone...a fairly straightforward game that requires a lot of running and jumping...something achieved by pushing your pointer finger around the touch screen.  Lilian somehow discovered the game (maybe by watching her sister?) and quickly realized that it was something she could not only play but actually get rather good at.  I have to admit, it was kind of cute watching her play....her forehead wrinkled up in concentration, her little pointer finger hard at work.  And darn it all if it really is just the best thing for keeping her entertained on those long drives in the car, waiting in lines and grocery shopping with her in the cart.  (Okay, actually she doesn't play while in the cart for two reasons....one, I rarely take Lilian grocery shopping with me.  And two, oh the horrors if she dropped the phone on the hard floor from that high up!!)  

She has since discovered the other wonders and joys of my phone, namely taking pictures of herself and typing out nonsensical "notes"...then asking me to decipher and translate the mumbo jumbo of the random letters she has strung together.  She has yet to send anyone a text, call anyone on my contact list or buy any new apps (thank my password for that last one).  She always asks permission before taking my phone, and I tend to not let her play unless I'm with her.  She even dutifully hands it over when it rings or beeps a text or email through.  But she was in a full pout when I took the phone away tonight so I could leave for book club...

Sigh.  A consistent parent I am, apparently, not.  But hey, maybe I can set my mind at ease with the knowledge that I'm raising the worlds next high scoring Temple Run champion...    
 
 

Rebekah is driving!

A trip to the Drivers License Division of the DMV today resulted in a passing grade on their computerized written drivers test. The reward?  Rebekah's learners permit.

This was her second try, actually.  She hadn't expected the test to be so detailed.  Do you know how many feet to stop before a railroad crossing?  Or exactly how many feet you have to be able to see in both directions before you make a u-turn?  Or when to turn on your headlights in regards to visibility footage?    Do you, do you?  Me either.  I would've failed the test also.

So...this, along with her enrollment in Drivers Ed. this semester at school, has me freaking out just a little bit.  Oh, I like the idea of her being able to drive.  Not having to drive her to school or to various friends houses on the weekend, not to mention sending her off on errands for me, does have it's appeal.  It's the thought of TEACHING her to drive that kind of worries me.  Not to mention, in what vehicle?  Our choices at this point are Bryan's little stick shift, cherry-red-cop-magnet sports car, or my monster Ford truck...in which I'm worried she'll cause an accident just trying to park the huge thing!

Regardless of what she ends up driving, practice she must.  Requirements for an official drivers license include not only passing Drivers Ed and being 16 year of age but also having a learners permit for at least 6 months and 40 hours of driving time with a parent.

Wish us luck!    

A preschooler "rite of passage"

 Lilian begged to get in the shower with me.  She didn't need her hair washed because she'd taken a bath just the night before but I told her she could climb in anyhow.  I had my eyes closed while washing my hair when I heard her shove the shower curtain aside and climb out.  I just figured she was done and didn't think too much of it until a minute or two later when she climbed back in again.
"What's up, Lilian?" I asked.  "Did you have to go to the bathroom?"
"No, " she replied.  "I wanted to check in the mirror to see if I had a hole in my head."
WHAT??
I whipped her around and found that she did indeed have a "hole" in her head....and it was bleeding.  While my eyes had been closed and my back turned, Lilian had quietly grabbed hold of a razor and decided to experiment with it on the back of her head.
The blood wasn't too bad, really.  Just a little scrape, but Lilian was equal parts fascinated and horrified that her head was bleeding.  She had a small bald spot where she'd shaved her hair away but other than that, it didn't look too bad.
Nah, it wasn't until I got the bleeding stopped and tried to brush through the rats nest in her hair...only to have that whole knotted rats nest come out into my hand....that I realized how much hair she had lost.  It's very thin back there...but it is BACK there which means it'll be much easier to hide than if she had shaved the top of her head.  I put her hair in a pony tail today.  It was very thin...but it at least covered the worst of things.
I'm starting to think that cutting their own hair is some rite of passage that all preschoolers must go through.  Of course, usually it's a pair of scissors rather than a razor they take to their heads...