From the Mouths of Babes with Hair Obsessions

annabelle in a crown

Well, little Miss Three-Year-Old Diva just came home from the drugstore with Grandma and Grandpa complete with a new crown, earrings, a ring, a necklace, and a bunny. She has gone from mirror- to-mirror around the house admiring her swinging earrings and holding her dance poses. She looks at me, grins, and says “I’m obsessed with my hair.” She has heard me saying this to my sisters–when I didn’t realize she was listening! (At least she’s not stomping around saying “Holy Hell!” like she did yesterday when she heard me swear as Henry almost fell off the trampoline, or saying “Damn it!” (one of her favorite phrases she says she learned from Daddy), or talking about circumcision after hearing a heated discussion between my father and me.) Oy.

My 18-year-old niece, Janessa, started this hair obsession when she came to help babysit this summer on the Vineyard for a month. Janessa had two sets of long extensions and spent an inordinate amount of time blow-drying, straightening, curling, and in general, playing with her hair. On the positive side, this new hair obsession made Annabelle want to wash her hair. Prior to this, she hated washing her hair and it was a battle in the bathtub. After my niece came, all of a sudden Annabelle wanted to wash her hair three times a day.

Now, we’re staying with the grandparents, who are shockingly, also obsessed with their hair. Yesterday morning, Annabelle got up and took one look at her wild toddler curls in the mirror. She made a face and turned around, standing on her tiny stool, now brushing her teeth backwards. “Can Grandpa put gel in my hair,” she asked in desperation. “Sure,” I answer. Go ask him.”

Next thing I know, Grandma is opening the door to the bathroom and announcing, “The beauty parlor is open!” Annabelle and Henry troop through the door to get their hair slicked. “Grandpa,” Annabelle says, “You have more gel than hair!” He howls with laughter.
She runs into see me so I can admire her hair. “Pretty,” I say. She starts to dance and then cuddles up to me. “I’m cold,” she says. Her eyes grow wide. “Now look what I have,” she whispers, “boose gumps!”

Picture of Marci Darling

Marci Darling

I lie here on my pink puffy bed in my pink silky pajamas, or pink flannel depending on my mood (the only thing you can bank on is that there will be chocolate smeared somewhere on my attire), with my pink feathered pen, writing my most delicious daydreams. Funny? Sometimes. Scandalous? Hopefully. Inspiring? Perhaps. Full of love? Always. Welcome to my World.

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