I had a 5:00 meeting last night, so as Derrick breezed in about 3 seconds before I needed to leave (while he was on a conference call, no less), I quickly shouted “Dinner! Bath for Paige! Horrible naps – so bed by 6:30!” as I ran out the door. Mom shorthand that I can only hope Dad speaks (because, who are we kidding? I certainly wasn’t going to take the time to write him a note on how to parent his own children. No people – he’s not BABYSITTING. He’s being a dad. I can’t STAND when people say that. But, I digress).
So, this morning when I got Paige ready for camp (again, a post for another day), I
wrestled her until I could hold her tight between my legs calmly brushed her hair into in a ponytail. I noticed it was a bit – how you say – greasy. And by greasy I mean I could have probably used it to quiet creaks in the doors at our house. All of them.
So, obviously, I blamed her daddy.
Rinsing Paige’s hair is a test in both patience and agility, as she typically screams at the top of her lungs that her ears hurt while grabbing them and wriggling away. Where’s my sympathy, you wonder? She’s got tubes, folks. The water DOES NOT hurt her ears. I’ve confirmed it with her ENT. And, more often than not her “wriggling away” actually involves knocking her little sister face first into the bathwater. Which, as you can imagine, is a treat for everyone involved.
So, yes, I assumed that Daddy decided to half-ass the hair-rinsing part of the bath.
And I may or may not have shared my assumption with a couple of friends today. And maybe a few casual acquaintances. And a stranger or two. (What can I say? It was seriously that greasy. People were staring.).
Since it’s camp week, we’re doing baths every night to rinse some of the paste-they-call-sunscreen off her skin. Today I waited to shower until the end of the day so we could have both girls shower with me. I’m just that
lazy good of a mom.
I went into my room to get dressed and got ready to go downstairs. I heard something in my bathroom and said “Paigers? Are you still up here?” She replied, “Yes, Mommy. I’m just polishing something up.”
Suspicious. Especially since I’m pretty sure she has no idea what it means to polish something.
I walk in and in the two minutes it took me to get dressed she has somehow gotten the spray lid off her detangler. And she is pouring it into her hand and rubbing it on her hair.
Aha. That explains the greasy sheen.
Sorry Daddy. Let’s just save that assumption for another day, shall we?