Photographic Evidence That She Still Lives Here

Pittsburgh, There Are SO Many Great Things About You. This Isn't One of Them.

We're in a good groove right now, so the answers come easily. Sometimes they come even without me asking the question.

"My day was terrible today, momma," Alexis said as she buckled her seatbelt. Tears formed in the corner of her eye as she continued. "Everybody made fun of my jersey."

It was the jersey that she decided to wear somewhere around 3:30 am. Long before the first birds started chirping, a mussy-haired little girl stood in the dark, holding my phone in her hand as she looked for an answer.

"Alexis, what are you doing?" I mumbled to her. We all know how very much I love sleep. I couldn't think of a single reason why I wasn't making out with sleep at that moment, other than WHY WAS THERE A KID RIGHT NEXT TO MY BED? STANDING THERE. STARING AT MY PHONE.

"I need to know if the Pacers won," she whispered.

"Yes, they won," I told told her before demanding that she return to bed.

They did win, by the way. They tried very hard not to, but that was probably just because they like stressing me out. Regardless, Lebron James can suck it because the Pacers won.

The little 8-year old with the heart filled with glitter and sparkle somehow has grown to care about the Pacers. She especially cares if they beat the Heat or not. She has the schedule memorized and knows when they play. She demands to watch the games, but never manages to finish them since bedtime is important time.

Once she knew the Pacers had beaten the Heat, Alexis knew she wanted to wear her jersey. She proudly wore it to school, beaming as she walked out the door this morning. Then, the other kids made fun of her.

Because Pittsburghers don't get the NBA.

Except that one little Pittsburgher. She does.

So after a pep talk and a reminder that it's not nice to make fun of anyone's clothes, I armed the kid with the tools for a comeback. I hope. I asked her if any of the same kids ever wear Steelers, Pens, or Pirates gear.

Of course they do.

So now she's thinking about how she will reply if it happens again. And she definitely knows that it wasn't worth letting it get under her skin.

Delta Burke Need Not Apply To Be Her Mom

She started asking last fall, so I figured she'd had enough time to truly think it through. I took Alexis for a haircut today and gave her the green light to cut it short if that's what she wanted to do.

For months she has asked and begged and been really very certain that she wanted short hair. It's her head so she can do whatever she wants, but the kid wears her hair up in a ponytail every single day. I wanted her to be absolutely certain before she went through with it because there is no regret quite like bad haircut with no ponytail option regret.

As we were driving to the salon, I asked Alexis what she was going to do. She replied by asking me what she should do. Which, HA! No. It was her decision, so I told her as much. During the ten minute drive, she went back and forth like a ball at a professional tennis match.

Just a trim.

Cut it short.

Two inches.

Trim.

NEVER MIND I WANT TO GO HOME.

Cut it short.

Around and around she went, right up until we were walking in to the salon. At that point, I suggested that maybe Alexis could compromise and go for shoulder-length. If she saw that and wanted it shorter, that would be fine. I reminded her that it would grow back no matter what, and then left her to her own devices with the hairdresser.

Alexis was much more certain once she was talking to the person with the scissors. "I want it this long," she said as she pointed to an inch or so past her shoulder. The person with the scissors started cutting.

I watched over my shoulder. I was getting my hair colored and cut at the same time, but I could just barely see her in the mirror as she was behind me.

Long locks of curls fell to the ground and fell some more and fell some more. I prepared myself for the "it will grow back" speech JUST IN CASE. I didn't know if Alexis would be happy with it or not, but I thought it looked fine. Honestly, I don't think her hair could ever look bad, except for maybe if she ever cut her bangs. THAT doesn't work well for her just because of how her curls fall.

At last the cut ended. I held my breath as I waited for Alexis to see herself in the mirror. Would it be tears? Or a smile?

(This is where there would be a photo of said haircut, but Alexis is on an anti-photos on the internet bender recently. There's a very good reason she's on that bender, and I love that she is figuring out internet privacy as well as she is. So, no photo. For now. She told me she wants one to go up this weekend after her friends at school have seen her, though, so there's that.)

The result was a smile. A big, cheesy, very happy smile spread across Alexis' face. She liked her now six inches shorter hair.

I still had a while to go before my hair would be done, so I handed Alexis a tablet. She sat back and played Candy Crush while she waited, her face buried in the game and not noticing anything around her.

Until she did notice something around her. Just as my hairdresser was finishing up the last of her curling, Alexis looked up. For what it's worth, I don't know why anyone would feel the need to curl my hair. It's a terrible idea that lasts all of 4 minutes. I just ignore it, much as I had ignored that the hairdresser had used a round brush and a pick to tease my hair into a Delta Burke circa Designing Women bouffant. It was late in the evening and we were headed straight home afterwards, so truly I cared about as much as the honey badger about what was going on. There ain't nothing I can't fix later, y'know?

Alexis, though. ALEXIS. Alexis took one look at my hair and instantly morphed into Eeyore. A single tear rolled down her cheek as her lip poked out with concern.

We walked up to the cash register to pay, both silent. I didn't want to ask because I wasn't sure what she was going to say. She wasn't saying anything because she didn't know what to say. But then my hairdresser opened the door. Wide.

"What do you think of your mom's hair, sweetie?" she asked Alexis.

"It makes her look really old," Alexis said as she burst into tears.

She was right, for the record. I look five years older with Delta Burke's hair.

Who would have guessed that getting six inches cut off her own hair would be less traumatizing than half an inch off of mine?