First off - I have three daughters. You know - girls. That means they have feelings. Lots of them, and they like to express those feelings. All the time. Out loud. I usually don't have conversations, per se. Instead, I'm often on the receiving end of a rapid-fire, three-fold conversational assault. The pre-teen fires, and I volley back, simultaneously returning a query from my seven-year-old. We continue this parlay for whole minutes at a time, while I dodge the constant tommy-gun prattle that my four-year-old deftly aims my direction. To put it lightly, they like to talk about what they're thinking, feeling, and experiencing. They are each very strong, but none is what you might call the silent type. That's because they're daughters.
The next deeply unnerving truth in my life - my daughters all have hair. Yes, I'm glad they have hair, especially in light of the fact that the oldest was nearly bald until she was 2 1/2. But, those days are gone. Now, they're all fully-tressed, each with lustrous, healthy, gorgeous heads of hair. One has highlights that would make even the most skilled hairdresser weep with jealousy. One has hair so benevolent and compliant that it can practically curl, shine, or French-Roll on command. The other has such perfect, uniform, ringlet curls that we literally have to schedule an extra fifteen minutes into our errand-running days, just so we aren't made late by all the people who stop to compliment her. In short, these girls have got it going on in the hair department. Why, you ask, does that make me want to weep copiously and head for the hills? Simple - with great hair, comes great responsibility, which leads me to point number three.
Hair must be brushed. Seems simple enough, doesn't it? But - let me assure you - when you combine point number one (girls who love to talk about what they're feeling) and point number two (girls with tons of hair of varying temperaments), it makes you really start to reconsider the full ramifications of point number three (that hair must be brushed). Sure, the act of hair brushing itself is simple enough. But, so is changing a flat tire, unless it's 32 degrees, raining cats and dogs, and the cars are honking and speeding by your head, mere inches away. This, in a nutshell, is how I've come to view our daily grooming ritual. I feel like I've got post-traumatic stress disorder from my previous run-ins with tangles, tender heads, and tantrums. It's gotten so bad lately that I've begun contemplating alternatives to the dreaded morning ritual. Perhaps they don't really need their hair brushed every day after all... I'm sure they would look very good in hats... How long does it take to do cornrows?... Hmmm...
In the interest of full disclosure (and, mostly, to make sure you don't think ill of me or my wonderful children), I should note that we have tried every tangle spray and different brush type in the universe, but to no avail. And, though I do sincerely (ardently, feverishly, fully, and earnestly) hope that my children will grow out of their tenderheadedness, I don't look for that to happen any time in the near future, since I still suffer from the dreaded disorder myself. We generally run a pretty tight ship around here when it comes to behavior, but I don't blame the girls for their vociferous reluctance to get their hair brushed. I, on occasion, still let a mild utterance or shriek fly when encountering my own tangles, after all.
So, there's nothing left to do but restrain myself from drastic measures, and keep enduring the screaming, struggling, fighting, flailing, ouching, oohing, ahhing trio, until their tresses are tamed, or baldness becomes the new style for little girls. After all - I have three daughters. They all have hair, and hair must be brushed. And so, we soldier on together.
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