The "More" Child

Have you heard?

I’m the world’s worst mother. At least that was my conclusion this morning after been screamed at for close to an hour while M. readied herself for the penultimate day of the year, Wacky Hair Day. I was actually going to get up early and blog about yesterday’s homeschool review (stay tuned), but clearly that didn’t happen.

This being 5th grade and her last year of elementary school, today’s Wacky Hair Day was the penultimate of the penultimate. Every year she’s topped the previous years’ outrageousness. I’ve already blogged about M.’s fixation on outrageous hair, what she’s done to her hair even during the normal course of the year. So the stakes couldn’t be higher. Not for her the boring three pigtails. Balloons, pipe cleaners, PollyPocket beach scene diorama, weird braids–all been done.

By this point it’s not just about the hair. It’s a full body experience. M. emerged from her room wearing a pair of plaid shorts over capri tights–a different color on each leg. Mismatched socks. Ugly shoes. Randomly tied bandannas around her legs. A purple necktie and stuffed monkeys draped around her torso. After looking at herself in mirror, pleased, she went into the bathroom and called, “Where’s my spray on sparkle hair dye?”

Um. I had thrown out the three sticky, what-I-thought-were-empty-but-apparently-were-not cans the previous day. They were gone.

You can imagine the howls, tears, screaming and recriminations that followed. I was the World’s. Worst. Mom. It had been planned with her friends. It was supposed to be the best day of the year. And now everything was RUINED. We still had the tube of industrial strength hair gel, however, and the next hour was spent squeezing it onto her head and trying to coax her hair into a towering point. The hairdryer and straightener came out. Screams of “Leave me alone!” Me leaving. Screams of “Come here I need you!” Tin foil. Ideas hit upon and abandoned. The point collapsed, with her gel-stiffened hair resembling Medusa.

Eventually the storm subsided somewhat. The cool purple eye-shadow–the better to give a space alien effect–probably helped. Meanwhile C. emerged and went to check on a piece of knitting that she was blocking on a towel downstairs. I mentioned that she might want to change it, as it was very damp. Well, she moved it and it got messed up. And of course that was MY fault. Of course. I was an idiot.

By then it was time to take M. to school and myself to work. Have I mentioned that I LOVE working? No one yells at me; in fact people actually think I’m kinda wonderful.  I get to dress up. I ride the Metro and buy coffee every morning. It’s interesting, engaging work. And they pay me. Imagine that.

As we pulled into the school driveway, M. said from the back seat, “Actually, it came out good.” I had to laugh. After all that drama. “I kind of knew it would,” she confessed. “We do this every year. I just didn’t want to say.”