Three Little Girls....Mommy Fix My Hair

     Mommy fix my hair.....That is what I heard each morning for what seemed like years and years.  Three little girls.   One with thick brown hair, one with hair the color of honey, one with fine brown hair, each one I brushed day after day.


     How many ways can I come up with to do their hair?  
French braid down the back....
French braid pig-tails....
Pony tail....
Inside-out pony tail....
Side pony tail....
Pig-tails.....
Side pony tail with a braid....
Pig-tail braids brought up and crossed at the top....
Side-pony tail braid with a loop....
Pig-tail braids with loops.....
Top half of hair pulled back with a bow, a barrette, elastic bands with round colored balls you looped over to fasten...         
Big bows, little bows...
Animal barrettes, bow barrettes, holiday barrettes... 
Scrunchies in a rainbow of colors...
Leave it down unadorned...


     Do I use water or Dippity-Do?
     Wide comb, small comb...
     Dry hair, damp hair....


     They each were patient at letting me do their hair.  Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, spraying with the squirt bottle filled with water which sometimes I warmed so it wouldn't feel so cold on a winter morning.   Combing, combing.   My hand deftly pulling just the right amount of hair into my waiting fingers as I weave back and forth the long braid.  Are all the hairs smoothly laid?  How does it look?  Thanks mommy.


     Next daughter.  What should we do with your hair today?  The same?  Okay.  Different?  Okay.  Which bow?  A ribbon?  Can I weave the ribbon in?   Okay.   Nothing?  Okay.


     Could you do my hair mommy?  My youngest's fine hair is hard to do but I always magically did what was asked.  I felt so accomplished at this small task.  It looks good mommy.  I changed my mind.  Can we do a braid on top and a pony tail too?  Okay.   She makes funny faces at herself or me in the mirror while I do her hair as she stands on the small bench my love made just for little ones not tall enough to stand at the sink to wash their hands.  Perfect for them to stand on for me to work my hair magic in the morning.  That bench now in my closet for me to stand on to reach the upper shelves. 

     Next is my middle daughter with the honey brown hair that shines in the sunlight when she runs in our backyard.  How shall we do it today?  Her sweet smile appears as she thinks and thinks about this one thing she is asked.  Aaaaa...uuuummm....how about the inside out pony tail mom?  She likes that one after a friend she has wore her hair that way.  Her eyes are alight but not with what I am doing but what she will do when I am done.   All done!  She jumps off and runs out of the bathroom.  I am left alone to clean out the strands of hair left on the brush, the comb, on the counter and in the sink.  I hesitate at throwing away my children's lost hairs for to me they are still alive and a part of them.  Cast offs I know but in the wastebasket they look unwanted and ugly in the small wad I have balled up.  Not many but they are of my three little girls whose voices I hear out the door. 


     I never tired of doing their hair.  The feel of my daughters's hair in my hands I can still feel.  


      Shampooing their hair was a task of setting a towel down on the kitchen counter for them to lay upon.  Another towel nearby for wrapping their hair afterwards.   Who's first?  Me mommy!  My oldest climbs up on a kitchen chair to get onto the counter, then swiveling around to lay down with her head in the sink.   I supported her head with one hand and with the other wet her head with the warm flowing water.  Running the water softly all over, under and on top.  I squeeze the shampoo onto her head and bring it to lots of white frothy bubbles.  Massaging and making sure the shampoo gets to all the hair.  My oldest needing more shampoo with her thick hair.  Don't get any soap in my eyes mommy!  I won't as I plop a bubbly dollop from my hand to her nose.  Mommy!  A laugh.  Rinsing all the shampoo out.  Squeaky clean as the bubbles flow down the drain.   I add a conditioning rinse that I comb through with my fingers and all over her hair.  I love the feel of my fingers flowing through her hair to the very ends.   Rinse once more.   Off with the water.  Okay, sit up!  I wrap the towel on her head as she begins to sit up and I gently dry her tresses with the towel.  Jump down!  She stands with her back to me as I begin the process of combing making sure to not pull any knots, the towel slipped down around her small shoulders for a drape to catch the dripping water.  Starting at the bottom and working my way up.  It takes time but I don't mind.  It is a rhythmic motion as I comb her hair and at last getting to the top and gliding all the way down without a tangle to pull.  How lovely my daughter is before me as I turn her around to face me.  Who's next I ask?


     The simple task of mothering is a task I bask in.  I never realized how much it would mean to me.  Those years when they were babies my hands were on them constantly.  Bathing, changing clothes, diapers, loving them.  As they grew it becomes less of the need to do for them.  I know the importance for them to learn to handle the dressing and bathing and only assist when they really need the help.  What was left for me for many years became the hair.  I was needed to do a bun for ballet class just the way the ballet teacher required.  I was needed to do the braids they couldn't do for themselves.  Such a loving touch, a chance to talk about whatever came up in doing their hair.  We don't realize how those moments will fly by just as they run out the door and away to play.  I still get my hugs from my now grown daughters, but I can also still feel my hands sliding through their hair even we aren't together.  I can feel the weight of it, the lightness of it, admiring the color, but most of all being needed.