Of Motherhood and Bad Haircuts

Rain does have its way of washing away sorrow and ill feelings.  Heavy downpour dominated yesterday, flushing out negativity from my system, reassuring me of good things to come.  Ginormous raindrops virtually bathed my soul, leaving me with a sense of calm and overall order.

That sense of peace was suddenly jolted by an email from an old friend.  She felt like she was the worst mother on the face of the earth because of her daughter’s bad haircut.  While at the salon, my friend was so engrossed in the pages of a magazine, that she didn’t notice the hairstylist snipping away at her daughter’s hair, cutting it way too short.

What transpired next was a series of tears, blame and a remote control flying across the living room. Suffice it to say, my friend’s daughter wasn’t the least bit pleased at her haircut.  And she blamed her mom for it.  My friend tried her hardest to reassure her daughter that her hair will grow back, but that didn’t appease the furious 10-year old.   My friend sucked it all in, believing that she the lousiest mother ever.

I felt both of their pain.  I knew how horrible it felt to have a bad haircut, and I knew how even more horrible it felt to let your daughter down.

I just told my friend to let her daughter vent and express her anger.  Her feelings aren’t to be trivialized, because she has every right to feel that way.  But maybe her anger should be redirected elsewhere, and not at my friend.  Moms only want the best for their kids, and that hair disaster was anything but her fault.

I told her to tell her daughter about a similar hair catastrophe she may have had when she was in high school.  That way, the kid would know that that thing too shall pass, and they could just laugh at the situation.

And then I comforted my friend, reminding her that she was only human- that I’m only human.  Whatever mistake she felt she committed didn’t earn her the title “Worst Mom Ever”.  It’s these minor mishaps which make us wiser and add dimension to our personalities.  We stumble, shake it off, and go on with life.

At least now I know better not to take my daughter to THAT hairstylist from hell.