My heart broke this weekend. I spent ½ of Saturday and nearly all of Sunday blowing out Honey and Cricket’s hair. That about wore me out, but I’ve since recovered. What left my heart scattered into pieces is seeing how this new ‘do transformed their attitudes, and inspired them to actually (gasp!) care about their hair. They couldn’t stop looking in the mirror and unnecessarily flipping their locks in mock irritation at it blowing into their faces. Where did this behavior come from?
I blew-out their hair months ago for Honey’s birthday party, and they could have cared less, just wanted me to hurry up and be done already with the blow drying and what not. But this brand-new-ness caught me completely off guard. I sadly showed the Mister these pics of the girls, and tearfully remarked about how quickly they’re growing up. His response: “Yeah, they are, so you’d think they’d do a better job cleaning their rooms.” Needless to say, I was alone in my grief as I went to bed Sunday night.
I felt a little better this morning as I headed to the girls’ rooms to wake them for school. That is until I found Cricket already awake, fully dressed and combing her hair. My blood pressure immediately shot up. I nearly said:
“Who gave you permission to comb your hair?” Even the Mister knows not to touch their hair unless he absolutely has to—and even then he knows that a baseball cap is his first line of defense.
The thought of scolding an almost 8-year-old for having the audacity to comb her own hair sounded ridiculous even to a control freak like me. Besides, I didn’t want to squelch her attempt at independence. So I took a deep breath and decided on another approach. The conversation went like this:
“Good morning, pretty girl. You’re up very early today.”
“I know, Mommy. I needed extra time to do my hair.”
“I see. You’re doing a great job, it looks very pretty. But let’s use this comb (handing her a wide tooth comb) instead of that one that’s made for your baby dolls.”
“ ‘Kay. Yeah, this one combs much easier.”
“And don’t comb too much, or you’ll lose all of the curls.”
“Don’t worry, Mommy. I’m almost done.”
Yeah, me too. And so it begins.