The other evening I asked A. to go upstairs to get a hair clip and put on her Crocs so we could go eat supper. She disappeared for a few minutes...and then stayed gone a while longer. She's almost four, so getting sidetracked goes with the territory. Soon she came back in with her hair clip (the Crocs had been forgotten--did I mention she's almost 4?). I started combing her hair and proceeded to gather several large clumps of loose hair in my hands and across my shorts. I tried to stay calm, while my mind started spinning on possible childhood illnesses that cause sudden hair loss. I didn't want her to see me freaking out with handfuls of her hair, so I discreetly built a pile.
I gathered up the clumps and bits and went to show Scott. She has a Dr. appointment scheduled this week and I was already thinking of moving it up. I put the clumps of hair in a drawer in case I should show the Dr., you know, evidence of this mysterious condition. By now, I'm thinking in terms of the Mayo clinic. (I have a flair for the dramatic. I'm from the South.)
Scott went upstairs to get something and saw a trail of hair clumps. These clumps though were obviously cut. Chopped. Ahhh...the plot thickens. As it turns out, while A. was upstairs earlier she got a bit creative with a pair of scissors. She apparently texturized her own hair and when I combed it, it started coming out. Thankfully, this little stylist has been blessed with a thick, full head of hair. There is a small spiky spot near her bangs that is a bit sad, but overall you can't really tell she was scissor happy. Whew! Yes, I put those scissors far away.
Now, please don't let me forget to remove the hair clumps from my sock drawer. Ick!