Monday, March 12, 2012

The Mullet and The Joy

            Squeakers is seven months old and in one of the best stages of raising a child, in my opinion. She is  adorable; she can't walk, crawl or get into anything dangerous that we don't accidentally leave within her reach, and she is giggly, happy and looks at everything with complete wonder and amazement. Therefore, she doesn't give me much material to write on this blog. More on her in the near future when she becomes mobile, and I have to chase her around all day, much in the same way you would babysit the drunkest person you have ever seen. On the other hand, Princess Particular gives me plenty of things to talk about. 
            For example, a daily battle in my house is The Hair War. Princess Particular wants long hair, partly from my brainwashing her, and partly due to the movie Tangled. I demand that she has long hair, and I trim her hair myself; she has never had a real haircut. Unfortunately for me, her hair grows incredibly slow, which I assume is just to annoy me. Why am I crazy psycho when it comes to hair? Because when I was in kindergarten, I had long, flowing, curly adorable hair. However, I never wanted to brush it, or wash it, or basically do anything that didn't involve it naturally turning into dreadlocks, and my mom decided to cut it. Not just cut it, but fashion it into a full on mullet. I was scarred for life, and I am still growing it out to this day. (OK, not really, but damn did I look stupid) 

This guy can barely pull off a mullet, imagine how the five year old me rocked one.

          What I have come to find, is that my mother was right. It is a total pain in the balls trying to take care of Princess Particular's hair, when she is just determined to let it grow without ever brushing it again. Every single day, there are tears, screaming, and begging. And that's just me. I threaten her to shave her head. No bob. No shoulder length cut; SHAVE. There is no other option in my world. I know what you're thinking- "Use no more tangles~! Braid her hair the night before~!" No more tangles is for people with normal hair. Princess Particular has soft, loose curls that seem to get forever tangled until the point it's much easier to cut her hair than deal with the screaming. Braiding her hair makes her look like an 80's pop star, something I was definitely not interested in doing after my stint with the mullet. 
           On the other hand, I had a great moment with this little monster the other day. Since I can't function before 8 am, it is common in my house for Princess Particular to pour herself a bowl of cereal until I actually make a weekend worthy breakfast of pancakes and sausage or something equally delicious. She had a brand new box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch on Saturday morning, and I was laying in bed waking up when she came speeding in and jumped on the bed. She had a completely exhilarated look on her face, and she was waving a small package in her hand. She literally looked like Charlie from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory after he realized he had won the Golden Ticket. (The 1971 one version, not the freaky Johnny Depp version. He's such a creeper.) 

              There was a freakin prize in my Cinnamon Toast Crunch. 

        Princess Particular went on to tell Mr. Wonderful and I that she started to pour her bowl of cereal, and all of a sudden this little package fell out. She didn't know what it was. Six years old and she didn't know what a prize in a cereal box was. Now this is partly due to the fact that I normally buy cereal that no one would actually choose to eat, mostly Cheerios and Rice Krispies. Those cereals never have prizes. However, when we do buy the occasional box of hyper sugar turbo boost cereal, they don't come with a prize, because companies are cheapo's and only include the instructions for mailing in 47 box tops and $32.95 in order to get a whistle. And it takes 18 weeks to arrive. 
                 Mr. Wonderful and I sat in bed, sun shining on a Saturday morning, and told Princess Particular stories of when we were little, hoping to be the ones who poured the prize into our bowl, being so disappointed when our respective siblings found the prize instead, and how I was never allowed to search for the prize in a new box. It was an amazing few moments, and something I will remember forever. The  joy in her face reminded me that there is pure and innocent joy in the world, and maybe I should take some time in my day to find joy in the little things life has to offer. Her prize? A silly straw. I didn't brush her hair that Saturday; The Hair War was at a stalemate, just for that day. 

1 comment:

  1. I love the part that says "my mother was right".
    Keep writing!