After I shower I twist my hair into a high bun to let my frizz-prone spots dry a little (hopefully) straight, and then I eventually do...something...with it. I never really gave it much thought before Sydney came around.
Sydney has SO MUCH HAIR. So much gorgeous, shiny, Pantene-commercial-dont’t-hate-me-because-I’m-beautiful hair. It’s brown with streaks of gold and copper and just enough silky wave to be disgustingly ideal. She doesn’t like to wear it in a pony tail or up, but insists on keeping it down, hanging around her tiny face like a warm shroud with just her giant, aqua eyes peeping out.
When she washes it, after having it swinging around during her normal 9-year old life (trampolines, blanket forts, various goofy hats, GUM, sweaty races down the street, and never-ending costumed skits), it is often an insurmountable collection of knots and teased bits. Combing it out has become a ritual involving patience and loads of detangling spray, but she only trusts me to do it. Over the years we’ve had frustrated arguments mid-tangle, and have tried all of the conditioners, wet brushes, tears, and methods. Finally, we have a system where she can calmly sit in front of me as I slowly start at the bottom of her long locks and gently unravel the knots of her busy life. She no longer fusses at me, and I no longer lose patience, and over the course of 10 minutes, I have cajoled her tresses into order. It is one of my favorite rituals with her, and after I am finished, she always requests “a bun up top like you wear.” I’ll twist all of that clean, sweet-smelling, beautiful hair into a giant top-knot on the crown of her tiny head, and she looks like a prima ballerina, ready to take the stage. It will maybe last through the night, and in the morning it’s back down, swirling and ready to tangle the world, just like she is. Man, I love that kid.
Sydney has SO MUCH HAIR. So much gorgeous, shiny, Pantene-commercial-dont’t-hate-me-because-I’m-beautiful hair. It’s brown with streaks of gold and copper and just enough silky wave to be disgustingly ideal. She doesn’t like to wear it in a pony tail or up, but insists on keeping it down, hanging around her tiny face like a warm shroud with just her giant, aqua eyes peeping out.
When she washes it, after having it swinging around during her normal 9-year old life (trampolines, blanket forts, various goofy hats, GUM, sweaty races down the street, and never-ending costumed skits), it is often an insurmountable collection of knots and teased bits. Combing it out has become a ritual involving patience and loads of detangling spray, but she only trusts me to do it. Over the years we’ve had frustrated arguments mid-tangle, and have tried all of the conditioners, wet brushes, tears, and methods. Finally, we have a system where she can calmly sit in front of me as I slowly start at the bottom of her long locks and gently unravel the knots of her busy life. She no longer fusses at me, and I no longer lose patience, and over the course of 10 minutes, I have cajoled her tresses into order. It is one of my favorite rituals with her, and after I am finished, she always requests “a bun up top like you wear.” I’ll twist all of that clean, sweet-smelling, beautiful hair into a giant top-knot on the crown of her tiny head, and she looks like a prima ballerina, ready to take the stage. It will maybe last through the night, and in the morning it’s back down, swirling and ready to tangle the world, just like she is. Man, I love that kid.
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