Blue-Haired Old Ladies Have Nothing On My Kid

Be careful what kind of deals you make with your kids! I lost a bet and now my son has a kelly-green grass strip growing down the middle of his head.

Early last Spring my eight-year old caught on to a local trend and had his head buzz-cut with a “designer motif” carved in the back. He debated between a Kenpo Karate fist and a Yin-Yang, and eventually chose the latter. But having a five inch symbol on the back of his closely cropped skull was not enough -- he wanted to paint one half red and the other half blue. I convinced him that a rainbow on the back of his head would not be satisfying, and hoped that might be the end of things.

But two weeks later, he saw “Kameron” on “So You Think You Can Dance”, and fell in love with the fire-engine red mohawk. (Yikes!) Nate begged for a blue counterpart. I compromised and let him get some electric blue hair gel with the promise that if he still wanted to dye his hair by the end of summer, I would let him. I was sure the novelty would wear off in a week or two.

Today is the day of reckoning. He still loves his bright hair. And it was time for me to make good on the deal. So we trekked out to my girlfriend’s hair salon, he chose his color, and she gave him a permanent electric green landing strip down the middle of his skull. He loves it.

I’m still not sure how I feel about the aesthetics of green hair, but I do feel good about keeping my word and about encouraging a safe form of self-expression. It’s just hair...and hair grows!

Eating Soap

I have come to the conclusion that my children are subsisting on a diet of liquid soap and toilet paper. Yep. It’s the perfect explanation for why they are never hungry when I put their well-balanced meals on a plate in front of them, why my toilet paper holders perpetually display stripped cardboard tubes, and why the liquid soap in my shower is always three drops away from empty.

Seriously, I put two rolls of toilet paper in each bathroom on Sunday. This morning I went to pee, only to discover one lone square of paper dangling from the roll like a lost feather fluttering in the wind. And I’ve taken to adding bottles of shower gel to my cart where ever I am...CVS, Stop and Shop -- heck, I even put a quarter in the vending machine at Fitzy’s car wash because they offered trial size bottles of Dial. Last week I thought I’d hit on a system; I bought the 20 gallon drum of ‘Soap em’ Up’ at my local wholesale club. (So what if it smelled like motor oil? It was cheap!) I figured this baby would last us at least a month. Boy was I wrong.

This morning I was greeted by the the all-too-familiar farting bottle of air. Apparently, when there is more soap available, it is simply an invitation to use more.

I’ve explained the “dime size blob” theory, demonstrated the use of a bath sponge, and sung the praises of those marvelous little perforations on the toilet paper roll. But apparently, my lessons have fallen on deaf ears.

Then again, both my children are healthier and more fit than I am, so maybe they know something I don’t...

The next time my husband asks ‘what’s for dinner’, I’ll let my kids take the lead: “Charmin and Ivory for everyone.”

But there's no boys...

Early in the summer my children signed up for a week at gymnastics/dance camp. They had a great time and both of them asked to sign-up for the second session, offered in August. Today we drove to camp and they were happily talking about learning “flips” and “dances” and “kick-overs.” But when we walked into the main building, we were met with about 60 boys, dressed for soccer camp, and ten girls dressed in leotards. My son’s dark skin blanched, nearly reaching the same pasty color of mine.

“Do boys take gymnastics and dance?” my son asked in a voice so quiet I could barely hear him.
“Of course,” I said. “C’mon, let’s see who else signed up.”

We approached the counselor and checked out the list: Fourteen girls, and Nate.

I really didn’t know what to do. He seemed so unsettled, I wanted to wrap him up and take him home, but I also wanted him to learn that he could follow his own interests and be his own person -- and I hated the idea of gender restrictions.

I left my son holding back tears -- him and me. I worried about him all day. Had I forced him into a situation of social ridicule? I felt awful. I ate a box of Lucky Charms. I didn’t even have milk.

At four-o-clock I met Nate camp where he stood among soccer players and gymnasts, wearing a smile that swept the room with sunshine.

“Did you have fun?” I asked. (I wanted to add, ‘even though there were no boys’!)
“I can do a back walk over!” he proclaimed. “And we learned the beginning of a cool dance.”
“Did any other boys come?” I asked, hesitantly. I just couldn’t let it go...
“No. But I don’t care. I was crazy to think that boys can’t do this. Neil ( ‘So You Think You Can Dance’ contestant) does gymnastics AND dance, and I want to be just like him.”

He munched his crackers and sang along to the music on his iPod, and for the first time ever, I said a prayer of thanks for T.V. My son has a hero, and so do I.