 |  |
 | in the morning |
Dear Child:
If you wake up ever-so-early in the morning and ask me to brush your hair because “it’s all in [your] face” and also “it’s tangly in the back”? I will have to assume that you were bodysnatched by aliens in the middle of the night. Because you never let me brush your hair ever, not without serious discussion and negotiation.
However. I will brush your hair. In the semi-dark. With my eyes closed. Because I’m going to have to do it sometime, and this can’t be any harder than trying to convince you to let me do it when the sun comes up, whenever the heck that may be.
Even if you are an alien, you still need brushed hair.
Now can I go back to sleep?*
Love,
The Mama
* Letter mentally composed at o’dark thirty in the morning, but not typed up until the evening. Because once the aliens/children are awake, they don’t slow down until bedtime.
Ummm, so I’m lucky to have three boys? No hair to brush? Just spikes and cowlicks to tame? Okay. Lucky, I am. At o’dark thirty in the morning this is me: “You better not jump on my face with that stanky diaper. I swear if you do it one more time it’s going to – shit, it exploded. MAX! GET DOWN!”
Lucky does not even begin to describe it, I think.