Ramona strikes again!

Alternate title:  It's Pat!

I mentioned before how Isabelle has an alter-ego.  Well, she actually has two.  We have Isabelle, the bully.  Then we have Greenie, the sweetheart.  And finally, we have Ramona.  You know Ramona.

Source: flickr.com via Kristi on Pinterest

Ramona is the mischief maker, and she's actually been pretty tame lately. Sure, Isabelle has been mischievous, but trust me, she's been worse.

Yes, that is my living room covered in powdered sugar.  I had to rent a Rug Doctor and we don't even have carpet.  That was about two years ago.

That would be carrot cake mix and peanut butter. I can still remember the smell.

Sharpie.  And it wasn't just her feet.  We're talking face, too. 

She's tried to make "coffee" for her Daddy by combining half the contents of my spice rack. The smell of that lingered for days and consequently made me nauseous for days.  She's cut several skeins of  yarn into itty bitty pieces.  She made a duct tape spider web in between the bunk beds (she won't do that again... she got her hair stuck and it was pretty painful for her).  There are more spoons buried in my backyard than in my utensil drawer.

She's a mess.  She's the cause of most of my gray hair.  Honestly.

Want to know what her favorite mischief tool is?

Scissors.  Are you kind of seeing where I'm going with this?  Because anyone who knows me knows what happens when Isabelle, aka Ramona, gets scissors.

I called my husband today, as I usually do, and he asked me when I was planning on going to get my hair cut, because I've mentioned a few times that I think it's time to lose several inches.  I told him I had no definite plan, because I don't, and he said "well, I was thinking you could take Isabelle with you when you went."

Um.... why?

She decided she no longer wants to look like Rapunzel.  She doesn't want long hair.  So, she got some scissors (which were in the hall closet, which has a door knob cover on it - not that even a locked door will stop her - trust me.) and gave herself a haircut.

Can someone shoot me now?  I've lost count of the times this child has cut her hair, or cut her sisters' hair.  She knows better.  I know she does.  Whenever I do let her have scissors, she always says "I promise not to cut my hair." 

Bill asked her why she did it and when she said she didn't want long hair, he asked her why she didn't just ask for us to take her for a haircut.  She said, "oh..." 

Anyway, I asked for Bill to send me a picture and he said it wasn't that bad.  That should have been clue #1 that it was.  He said it just would need a trim, maybe some tapering.  Clue #2.  Tapering?  Like a bowl cut?  Oh well.... I thought we might end up with a chin length bob or something.

I walked in the door after work and looked at my child.  I said, "It's not bad?!?!  She looks like Pat Benetar!"  My husband proceeded to choke on the hot dog he was eating. 

She has a mullet.  She looks like Pat Benetar and Joe Dirt had a baby together. 

The picture doesn't really show the extent of the damage, I know.  I really don't know how they'll fix it. 

I guess I need to call around and see how young the beauty colleges around here accept students, because this child is destined to be a hairdresser. 

I don't know what to do with her.  Short of a lockbox for all things scissory (and I've tried that - I lost the key and have scissors locked up that I can't get into for myself!), she can get into every locked door around here.  She can pick locks, no lie.  Should I give her "scissor time" to try to get it out of her system?  Get her a Barbie head and let her go to town cutting the doll's hair? 

This is our first major incident of the summer... last summer they got in so much trouble I had to work part time.  So, at least there's that.  Unfortunately, we have 3 more weeks until school starts.  At least I'm off one of those weeks.  Fingers crossed we can contain Ramona that long.