The day before the 70th birthday party, the kids clothing laid out for the next day, I realized that the children absolutely needed their hair trimmed. It was the end of the trip and their hair was just looking shab de la shab. So I ran down to my Sikh hair cutter trainee extraordinaire (gotta love the idea as described in previous blog) and literally begged to get the kids in for a simple trim that day. Luckily since we’d hit it off so well, he managed to squeeze them in later that afternoon.

We put Devaki in the chair first (after she melted into her shampoo and massage—living in Thailand gets one used to the good things in life at a young age!) and I said to just trim it real quick. Meanwhile Kai was protesting a cut, insisting he was growing his hair long like Anikin Skywalker’s. My solution was to give him a few magazine’s to go through and pick out a cut. Of course Deva heard the suggestion and asked to look at magazines as well. Since that’s what you do when you’re getting your hair cut, I passed her one. Little did I know that her intention was to pick out a cut as well. Two seconds later she had her finger on a model with very short hair and was insisting that she wanted the exact same cut.

The hair stylist and I exchanged glances. “Are you sure, Deva?,” I asked. “Yes I’m sure I want it just like this.” “It’s really short, are you sure you want it like that?” “Yes I want it just like this. I’m going to have short hair! And everyone will say “who is that?” And I’ll have to say I’m Devaki!” We exchanged glances again and I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I think her mind is made up.”

I was concerned, not because I was attached to her cute little bob, after all I’m a gal who tends to change her hairstyle. But the thought of what I might have to go through if she decided that she didn’t like her new hair was more than I could bare the thought of. Is there and ice cream parlour nearby, I wondered.

Luckily Devaki sat grinning as she had her first restyle. She kept the magazine open and held it up to the mirror to make sure it was coming along in the exact same fashion. When she was finished she beamed, “take a photo, Mommy.” I sighed in relief.





For the next few days, unlike us grown-ups who check out our new hair styles with the bathroom door locked, she would announce to the entire room (remember this was the party weekend) that she was going to check her hair. She would bolt up the stairs and return all smiles a few seconds later. The only traumatic event was when she woke up the next morning with serious gel-induced bedhead. She woke me up in hysterics. I couldn’t get water on it quickly enough. I think she woke the entire household up that morning.

So my advice is that if your little girl expresses interest in changing her hair, gently encourage her. And the comment below is why: Giggling in the mirror Deva said, “Mommy, I’m myself with long hair, I’m myself with short hair, I’m myself when I’m a sister, I’m myself when I’m a friend, I’m myself when I’m a mommy.” If she can only hold onto that mantra through age thirteen, my sigh of relief will be much heavier!

As for Kai, he won with just a few snips to take out some weight. I reckon we’ll have a mini Anikin Skywalker by Christmas.

Cheers & Ciao for Now,

Gina