Hair pulling

Benjamin loves hair. He's constantly catching fistfuls of it.

Part of this might be happenstance because (Hair + Hand = Hair Pulling). But he also seems to enjoy it (though I can't tell if it's because of the tactile sensation or because of the screams he elicits from his sisters).

Here is our little hair-puller in action:

Miriam was hugging him and he was rebuffing her advances (he was obviously much more interested in the cute photographer).

But the sly guy didn't want her to get away completely so he grabbed a handful of her luscious locks.

We've never cut Miriam's hair, really. She took so long to sprout any that I was loathe to cut it (and when I did finally cut it I only gave her bangs and it turned out terrible). Now that she's three she's officially had hair for more than half her life (and it's long) so she knows well how to get it untangled. You move in closer instead of pulling away.

And you gently pry it out of your brother's fingers.

She's a pro.

She doesn't ever get mad at him for pulling her hair anymore because ever since he joined our family our mantra has been that if you're close enough to him that he can grab your hair/poke your eye/drool on you then it's your fault. It's like harassing a mother bear; if you choose to harass a mother bear you choose to get mauled.

The girls are finally understanding this.

Once he's mobile it will be a different story, but until then this child is completely without guile—a paragon of innocence.