Saturday, June 20, 2015

Medussa and The Yeast Infection

My son always says he wants a bath instead of a shower.

His argument is that he doesn't like getting his head wet. Then he sits in the bath - while it's 115 degrees outside, mind you - and pours cup fulls of water on his own head. Actually, he has blown the whole "I don't like getting water on my face" nonsense. With going to the water parks and splash pads all around here he's more than happy to let city water plunge straight into his eyes. And woe betide we pass one of the sprinklers that dot the suburban landscape to keep tiny stretches of grass growing in the desert. Because he's face first into that as well. But apparently showers are completely different. I'm assuming because unlike the playground there aren't twenty seven other screaming people there. I can always fix that of course. One well-timed Craigslist ad and that bathroom will be teeming with people.

Actually instead I've been on a quest to find soap that he likes. He'll use mine - but thinks it smells weird. Predictably he said it smells like rotten eggs. Then rotten flesh (don't worry - it's a Minecraft thing. Honest.....) After a bit of prodding he changed his mind and said it smells like flour and rotten fish. Which - for whatever reason - sound like the main ingredients to make your own yeast infection. Instead he quite likes the one I got his sister. Because it smells like jam. Which is fair enough. I imagine a lot of people would quite like that. My shower soap has a drawing of a mountain on it covered in snow. So I either smell like a bear or Eddie The Eagle. Who strikes me as the kind of person who'd not only be delighted to smell like a yeast infection, but also be the first to sign up for my Craiglist Shower Debacle. Yeah. Let's scrap that idea. Personally I'd go for Nutella soap if they had it. Actually let's be honest - Nutella itself would be fine. Mmmmnnngggg.

I should mention too that my little almost-eight year old girl has that common problem of often having hair like that looks like Medusa's. After she's been rolling in pigeon shit. And electrocuted. And now has rats living in it (actually I Google imaged rat's nest and had a quick chuckle as this came up top trumps). I am entirely puzzled how someone can go to sleep at night - not move an inch - but still wake up with with the back of her head looking like a bowl of spaghetti. That's been rolled in pigeon shit. Which would be fine if brushing it was easy. Bless her little mismatched (sigh.....) cotton socks - she does try. Every morning I hand her a brush in the house (and then a different one in the car to see if we can get the bits she's missed) and I hear that reliable, dragged-scraping. Like someone trying to rake a bramble bush. I'll chip in too and she never moans. I'm not one of those "oh it doesn't hurt - stop whining" types that you see wrenching a brush through their kids hair. I'll have her brush through it once. And then, if needs be, I'll give it a run through as well. And she sits happily while I do it. She's also got de-tangling spray. Actually two types. One for before you take a shower and one to use right before you brush. And two brushes. The one in my car is a run-of-the-mill hairbrush. But the one in my house looks like a medieval sex aid.

Now with Quadruple-Action Stimulation
She's also got a tube of something called Marc Anthony's Curl Envy. Firstly - that sounds like a medical condition he has where he's ragingly jealous of how some people can curl out a perfect walnut whip-esque/Mr. Whippy ice cream poo. Secondly - he looks like this. Which is almost exactly the same close-up of-zombies-in-The-Walking-Dead eating-intestines look my daughter's hair has when she wakes up.

Hair Expert.
This is where I realize that as flamboyantly unmasculine as I am in some ways, what she needs is a girly, female influence in her life. No offense to her mother - but she's hardly what you'd call feminine. That's not a slight. It's a character description - and one she's proud of. And in no way am I banging on about how girls should be girly and boys should be boy-y (I have no idea what the male equivalent for that is). I just mean the simple understanding of someone who knows what growing up into a young woman feels like (EDITOR: this would be a really good place to make a joke about how you've also grown into a woman, but in a totally different way). How that feels. The context of it. Obviously I don't have that viewpoint. Even of something small like wanting to have pretty hair. And that it feels good to have it. You know - being a girl.

The irony in that is that she already feels that way. She often says happily that she feels very pretty. And that's wonderful. She is a disturbingly pretty girl. And she's the one exploring that development. Always picking out a dress to wear. Matching it (.....kind of) with little decorative bracelets, rings or necklaces. Interested in makeup and nail polish. Pointing out clothes at the store she thinks are pretty. But then not having that helpful, guiding influence to tell her that her blood-red Mexican summer dress doesn't really pop in the way she thinks it might when paired with her Zumba-style dance boots on and hair like a hay bail. But we'll get there.

I could just shave her head. And nobody wins there. I've seen her with very little hair as a baby. She has a phrenologists wet-dream of a bumpy head. She looked like Michael Stipe and Voldermort's baby. So yes. Actually I might leave her to find her own way around makeup and femininity.She's doing alright really.

She thinks she's beautiful like this.

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