On Friday, Raphaela asked for the child-safe scissors, so she could cut up some paper project in the living room. She came back to me about a half hour later and said, "Mommy, I decided that my hair needed a trim, so I gave myself a haircut."
In a panic, I checked her long beautiful hair for signs of random destruction, and other than looking "floofy," it seemed undamaged. I stared at Raphaela, straight in the eyes, and said, "Honey, I need you to know that I am not going to be angry at you, and I need for you to tell me the truth. How much hair did you cut off? Can you go to the living room and bring me those pieces of hair so I can see?"
Indeed she did return with the smallest clump of hair, and I told Raphaela how proud I was, that she had told me the truth and showed me the damage even though she thought I might be angry. I also explained that if she really wants a different hair style, we need to go to a professional hair stylist, we cannot take care of this at home.
On Saturday night, after Shabbat, I tried to use my iPad, and it had quite simply died some time over the weekend. Fearing that Raphaela had done something, I again called her over and reassured her that I would not be angry, and that I needed to hear the truth; had she played with and/or dropped the machine when I was not in the room with her?
Raphaela swore up and down that she had not touched it, and then conjured up a potential explanation, a la classic Greek mythology: "Maybe the iPad thought it had wings and tried to fly, and then failed and fell on the floor." (Very Icarus of her...)
I wanted to believe Raphaela, and since she has in the past been unafraid to admit to the truth I gave her the benefit of the doubt.
Raphaela then added, "Mommy, why is it that we need all these machines around us anyway?"
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