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ISSN: 1530-5775
July 2008, Vol.10 #7
INDEX
- Domestic Violence fly away home
The next installment from
Flying Lessons for Butterflies by Sheila Whitman
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The Combing of the Hair
I have not visited Spain for the world-famous running of the bulls. I was not present at the inquisition in the country either. I have however, been present for events that are more dramatic and more local.
One of the most memorable is the neighborhood-famous combing of the hair. There are no actual bulls involved and no children are actually harmed in the event. However, the screams produced in the bathroom rival those of the bull-riding Spaniards when they are actually impaled on a bull's horn.
Joel has gotten better with the hair-combing experience. He also has begun combing his own hair. His screams occur when the blow dryer monster appears from under the sink. Keeping his hair short works well. Getting a lot of water with a towel before we comb and blow dry keeps the process short. He now rarely protests and even permits gel to tame the flyaway bits of hair.
Emily, on the other hand, begins screaming when the object of pain appears out of the drawer. The small plastic comb looks innocuous enough with its simple pale-blue color and ninety-nine tines (counted by big brother when he was supposedly combing his own hair). To a two-year-old with long hair, it is an implement of torture.
It has gotten progressively worse. In past months, she only screamed when a knot of hair blocked the comb. Now, she recoils when the comb appears out of its torture rack. Combing her hair wet doesn't work. Combing her hair with the detangler spray infused with advertised magic powers doesn't work. Letting her comb her own hair means no combing takes place. A Dora comb doesn't work either. Letting her comb Dora's hair with the Dora comb while I comb her hair doesn't work.
She must have "girl" hair. Having shorter hair would not be an option for her or me. The bows and ponytails and cute hair accessories and her love of all things girly means we will have to continue to struggle with the bathroom dramatics.
So I press on with different combs, distractions, lap time, a mirror, standing on a stool to look in the big mirror, and moving as fast as humanly possible through the wet waves. I am gentle and patient and try my hardest not to cause her any pain. I have always gotten one shot at putting things in her hair after the combing. She often looks cutely askew with off-kilter ponytails and bows perched on the diagonal.
I know that no one would come to vacation in our bathroom. No travel agency would ever publicize our event. I wouldn't buy a trip that involved daily and sometimes twice-daily trips to the run with the bulls. I do know that if we ever do visit the bulls in Spain, I'll comb her hair for the screams to give us a clear pathway. Those bulls will run fast that day. I can also picture Emily running at them with crooked red bows and a blue comb to taunt them. I can also picture bullfighters taunting bulls with the same implements. The sport and tourist event might never be the same again.
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Happy Birthday Emily!
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Read this feature from past issues.
