Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Little Boys Play This Game Too, Right?

Little (shoving his hands into my bangs and pulling): "Mommy, I wix your haiw."

Mommy: "Ok"

My hair is already a frightening sight since I just let it air dry after getting out of the most chlorinated pool in Christendom, which makes me shudder silently to myself as I think about the man-hours it is going to take to fix this "fix".

Little : "Oh no no no no no no. I wix it."

He notices the grimace on my face as he knots and yanks and teases my hair and assures me:
"It be over soon Mommy."

He stops and waits for further inspiration to come to him. Or he forgets what he's doing and stares off into space while I discreetly try to smooth some of the tangles out of my hair. It looks like Edward Scissorhands hit the pipe and went to town on my head. I don't have to see it, I can feel it.

Little (being drawn from his stupor by my non-stealthy movements): "No no no no no no, I wix it Mommy. Hewe some yotion."

Hair products = lotion in Little Land. He holds his finger up like he's got an invisible lotion pump in his hand and puts it in my haiw. Hair.

"I wix it I wix it."

Severe mussing continues punctuated by him looking at my face and telling me it will be over soon. There is also about a gallon's worth of imaginary lotion pumped into my unruly mane. But it's ok, because every so often those little chubby hand will slide down my face and hold onto my cheeks while he looks at me and smiles. Once you have parented a toddler (or terrorist as a friend of mine has renamed the "toddler" stage), you know that moments like that can sometimes be few and far between and you'd go through anything- even the manual removal of each hair on your head- to get another one.

By now I'm nearly bald in the front, but as Little steps back to admire his handiwork, he realizes that somewhere in the rat's nest he's created, there is A hair out of place. He frowns and tells me he'll wix it and carefully reaches up to readjust ONE hair on the top of the pile.

Little: "Ahh, dat's beb-ber Mommy. All Done!!"

At this point, I am required to look at his masterpiece in the mirror. I want to tell him that I look (and feel) like Amy Winehouse's stunt double, but it's all I can do to smile and tell him it's "BEAUTIFUL!!". Then he runs away and leaves me to sort out the mess.