Not Your Ordinary "Bad Hair" Day...

My kids came back from a week at their dad’s on Saturday afternoon. We goofed off, stayed up late, etc. They didn’t have to go back to school until Tuesday, so I figured it was “okay” to allow them to “maximize” their Winter Break. Sunday night rolls around, though, and I ordered them both to take baths or showers (silly, because with a jetted tub in the new house, they ALWAYS opt for a bath over a shower—I don’t know why I even still offer them an option!)

Sunday afternoon my daughter told me she wanted me to take her to see Greta (our long-time Hair Stylist) for a haircut. My daughter has always FOUGHT getting haircuts. She hates to brush her hair and has a very sensitive scalp, but she also wants to have long hair. Her hair is like mine—baby fine and “naturally wavy.” It is like her dad’s because she has TONS of it.
Her hair is beautiful. Women all over America would pay Top Dollar to have her hair color. I suppose the best way to classify her hair color is to call it “light brown with golden highlights.”
And when I say “golden,” I mean GOLDEN. Her hair changes color every time the light hits it. She could be called a Blonde or a Brunette, even a Redhead, depending on the angle of the light. Upon close examination, her hair strands probably come in 16 different colors. My Girl should, in all honesty, have a contract for shampoo commercials, except for one small detail: she hates to brush her hair.

The Dog Bite from two weeks ago did not help this issue. Besides 14 stitches on the side of her face (from her ear down to her lip-line), the Girl had 4 staples—yes, staples(!) placed in her scalp for puncture wounds. The ER staff was so caring and gracious to place those staples without shaving a single hair on her head. But that means the staples (now removed), and the lingering scabs (still there) were all tangled up in her lovely locks. Not to mention the fact that having Rottweiler teeth imbedded in your scalp for a bit leaves a certain painful tenderness that makes hair brushing even more traumatic than it was before.

Poor R could not wash (or brush) her hair for a couple of days after the Dog Bite Attack. Even once she was cleared to wash her hair, the staples and dried blood in her hair made it difficult to brush out her beautiful golden brown locks.

We resorted to the "Classic Ponytail," only brushing the ends of her hair, to prevent “pulling” on the hair that was entangled in staples.

She was well on the mend when she left my household the day after Christmas—stitches and staples had been removed. She returned on January 3rd, still sporting her Classic Ponytail. On Sunday, she asked me to make an appointment for her with Greta to get a “Pixie Cut,” just like I had when I was her age.

I immediately knew something was wrong.

A Pixie Cut? In 2009?

I reminded her that my Mother-induced/Mia Farrow-inspired Pixie Cut warped me for life—I was in the 3rd grade, buck-toothed, and nowhere near puberty, and I was often mistaken for a…gasp…BOY…in public places. It scarred me for life! To this day, I do not wear pants ever—only skirts/dresses as a result of the trauma I suffered when I walked into a restaurant bathroom only to be greeted by a little old lady with, “I’m sorry, LITTLE BOY, but aren’t you in the wrong room?” (Horrifying—truly horrifying!)

There just HAD to be something wrong—this was soooo not like her! While she hates to brush her hair, we seemed to have reached a reasonable compromise—to keep her hair shoulder-length and utilize the “ponytail” during the day to keep it pulled back and “neat,” which helps to minimize the snarling.

Just in case, I indulged her with internet searches for cute “short” haircuts for girls and convinced her that a Kicky Little Bob would be sooooo much more delightful than a Pixie Cut.

And then bathtime came. I told her I would “help her” brush out her hair—being extra gentle and careful, in case her scalp was still sore.

She spent over an hour in the tub, turning all wrinkly and pruny, not wanting to get out. When she finally did get out, she tried to lock herself in my bathroom because she was dreading the Hair Brushing Exercise so much.

I finally coerced her into sitting on my bed and letting me take a look.

And when I did?

Oh. My. Goodness.

She had washed her hair, not brushed it at all, stuck it into a ponytail, slept on it while still wet, repeat, a few times, for over a week.

Her beautiful, golden mane was nothing but a snarly, rat’s nest from one side to the next. It was like one short, but GIANT dreadlock.

R cried.

THIS is why she mentioned the Pixie Cut—she had tried to brush her hair, but the snarls were so bad—and so deep—that she believed the only solution was to cut off all her hair!
And, to tell you the truth, at first I was thinking the same thing! But I just couldn’t give up without trying! Her hair! Her beautiful, BEAUTIFUL hair!

I slathered up my hands with Dove “Leave-In” Conditioner. I gently—so very gently—began to brush out what I could—at first just the ends of her hair, but then I started working on the top layer of the snarly mess. (I was crying, too, by now.) I had to use my fingers to pry apart the knots, but gradually—very gradually—as strand after golden strand of loose hair wound around her hairbrush, the snarly mess began to “give way.”

One hour (and 3 hairbrushes full of Spun Gold) later, darling R’s hair was a sleek, soft, silken waterfall of glory!

She cried, and she laughed, and she HUGGED me, and she SWORE she would brush her hair twice a day—every day—from here on out.

Poor girl.

She was so afraid that the snarly mess she KNEW existed on the back of her head was completely “unfixable,” she was willing to “fall on her sword” and cut it all off.

Quite frankly, I’m a bit amazed myself—I felt the density of the knots with my own hands, and contemplated “the scissors” myself, initially, but I persevered—kept trying, plying my daughter with perky, pleasant, distracting conversation. And, as we chatted, those snarls and knots seemed to “melt away.” I couldn’t help but notice that many of those clumps of hair came away with pieces of dried blood and discarded scalp (effing Rottweiler!), yet my daughter only winced a few times.

I have witnessed her brushing her hair several times today, and she still mentions the “Kicky Little Bob” as a future alternative, but she thinks it is important to grow her hair out another couple of inches, so that when she goes to see Greta for the “Kicky Little Bob” someday, she can donate what is cut off to “Locks of Love.”

Isn’t she great?

Oh, by the way, today is her BIRTHDAY. She is 10, and my Gift to the World!



And I just LOVE that my Pressed-Back chairs created little Devil Horns in this picture!