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April 27, 2006
Wild
In the morning, it’s the last thing I do. I dunk the special black comb with wide and narrow teeth into a tall glass, filled with water. I take a deep breath, forgetting to exhale, and recruit ten seconds and a truckload of patience.
You hear the water running, see me step forward with the glass and comb, and your eyes suddenly spark behind an impish grin. Suddenly, you are tearing through the house, little feet thumping across carpet, patting excitedly atop tile. Unleashed giggles bounce in your wake. I grope for a lock of hair and get nothing but a flurry of laughter and air.
It’s like wool back there: the comb would stand straight if you would sit still, but away you prance and the poor comb bounces in place atop your head like a clinging tranquilizer dart. You disappear behind a corner and discover a forgotten toy.
I kneel behind you as you play with the toy car. Sections of hair at a time, I gently unweave tiny dreads from the night before. Your hair is fine flax. As I arrange it, tame it with comb and water, you begin to look more like a normal toddler boy and less like a normal Chas.
Sloping waves mount each other in back, I swoop longish locks over one another, rounding my way forward to frame your face. The comb easily slides through your fringe in front; it is immune to your rowdy tossing in bed and tantrums in the carseat. I swing the comb down and around your cheek, parting it left. You grin, suddenly noticing me. With both hands, you grab my cheeks and screech! I see your tiny, perfectly round molars in back, and your squinting blue eyes coax me to drop the comb and tickle you.
After we stop laughing, we both sigh. Then, speechless with a hand over my mouth, I watch you tousle your hair up joyfully as a dog on a dungheap. When you are finished, you check my reaction with a curled lower lip and shadowed eyes, trying to mask your grin. But I see it! And we both acknowledge our dueling gumption.
Posted by Steph at April 27, 2006 12:20 AM
Comments
Great story! It reminds of my Grandma Betty who took care of my cousins when we were young. She would have them eat breakfast with warm washcloths on their heads to tame the bed head. So funny to see them in the morning eating bowls of oatmeal like that!
Posted by: katie at April 27, 2006 01:57 AM
LOVE. THIS!
What a tribute to mothers of mischievous, silly boys everywhere... and a reminder of why we have the BEST job in the world.
Posted by: Krystyn at April 27, 2006 02:47 AM
What a great little insight into your day, thank you!
Posted by: Sarah at April 27, 2006 01:26 PM
This picture was amazing--gave just the right amount of perspective. Though, it sounds like your perspective is wonderful anyway, turning what could be a power-struggle into a tickle-fest. "Note to self: remember this today." Thank you for this post!
Posted by: C. Delia at April 27, 2006 02:12 PM
Kinda looks like my hair after a good night's sleep! Love the story and your description.
Posted by: Charmaine at April 27, 2006 02:48 PM
Your boy...this story...that hair - is too adorable for words.
Posted by: Frances at April 27, 2006 10:15 PM
You are such a great writer!
This story does take me back to a childhood where I had "nests" at the nape of my neck and I would cut them out myself with scissors!! My poor mother-- can you imagine what I looked like with a hole at the back of my head?
Posted by: Elizabeth at April 28, 2006 01:50 PM
oh my! that hair! probably exactly what mine would look like if I didn't strangle it into a ponytail every night before bed.
Posted by: love squalor at April 28, 2006 02:25 PM
I agree with sarah; wonderful photo; and a tough job ahead.
Posted by: AscenderRisesAbove at April 28, 2006 03:09 PM
Steph, you could teach a class on descriptive writing. I was in the moment with you as I read. He is adorable!
Posted by: Cmommy at April 29, 2006 03:52 AM
That picture is super cute!
Posted by: KB at April 29, 2006 09:16 PM