I live in a world covered in hair. Everywhere I look, any place I turn to, all I see is hair, hair and more hair.All the girls in my house have very long hair.
My partner, whose around five foot eight has hair down to the middle of her back. The eldest three have it down to their bum, my fourth’s is half of way down and the youngest’s only started to reach her shoulders.
I find it everywhere; on my clothes, on my own head, round my fork, in my work bag and sometimes in my food.
My plug holes are constantly blocked after every shower, by the time I’ve pulled it out, I have, what looks like a yarn of wool in hair.
My partner is very good at knitting, I wonder, if I collect enough and spin it, can she make something from it?
I’m only joking about that.
Don’t get me started about shower time….
It has only been a recent thing for my eldest to start showering herself, however, she needs help rinsing her hair. So that’s one less stress.
My second wants to be independent, but we worry for her, I really believe that she would be the kind of person to wash her body with shampoo and she fidgets too much to be trusted to be on her own in a wet slippery bath tub.
Three and four tend to get washed together, they are small enough and it’s a bit like the two for the price of one scenario.
I wish I had a megaphone, every time it was time for their shower.
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! FOR TONIGHTS MAIN EVEN.
IN THIS CORNER, WEIGHING IT AT !!!POUNDS, WE HAVE, THE ELDER SISTER, THE MISSUS WITH THE LUNGS OF STEEL, THE ONE AND ONLY!!!!!!
AND IN THIS CORNER WEIGHING IT AT !!!!POUNDS, WE HAVE THE BRUISER FROM THE WEST, THE ROUGHEST GRIMIEST, ONE AND ONLY!!!!!
And I’m not exaggerating.
I hear them coming up the stair like a herd of elephants shouting, fighting and screaming.
‘You hurt me!’
‘I was first!’
‘She hit me!’
As they approach they are tugging and pushing trying to get to the bathroom door first and they’ve already stripped, leaving a trail of clothes behind them.
The water factor.
It always seems to hot or too cold for them, then they decide not to agree until it gets to the point when the shower head is spraying in their direction and I’m soaking them.
We have a few giggles at this point, they do a little dance as they are being washed until one crashes into the other.
That’s when the sly elbow comes in, then the kick, there’s lather streaming down the bath, I can see a foot slipping as they are trying to fight.
The referee has just stopped the match and sent the fighters into their respective corner.
The strange thing is, every time I do that, the intro from ‘Come out and play’ by the Offspring starts to earwig me.
So, anyway, the shower goes on and it’s time to come out of the bath.
I’ve only once made the mistake of taking my third out first and my fourth decided it was time to run up and down the wet bath like it was a racecourse, needless to say, she slipped.
She laughed and I died.
For a split second anyway. My heart came to a complete stop as the scene played out in slow motion.
Never again, from that day she’s always been first out.
Back to where I was.
Getting them out of the bath, putting their dressing gown on is easy.
This time there’s no fighting going down the stairs because they are going down one at a time.
Mummy is downstairs waiting, brush in one hand and hairdryer in the other.
My eldest is first at having her hair brushed and dried, then plaited.
No problem, done!
Our third goes next.
Crash, bam, wallop, done!
Easy so far.
Then our fourth.
She squirms a bit, says a couple of ouches, but she’s rapidly done.
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!! AND FOR YOUR MAIN ATTRACTION!!!!
In enters our second, last but not least, but kept for last so that her younger siblings don’t emulate her.
Her neck is down, her eyes closed and the pain is written on her face.
The brush hasn’t even touched her head yet.
Ouch, ouch, ouch.
Squirm, squirm, squirm.
‘Stop moving, it will hurt more if you fidget.’
‘It hurts!’ Comes out in a long whine.
Mummy looks up at me, ‘I haven’t even reached a knot yet.’
I have tried it myself, regardless how gentle you are, she will cry when the brush touches (I hope you’ve noticed that I have said touches and not brushes) the first knot.
She covers her face and the shouting and screaming starts.
I’m sure that anyone walking past our house at this point would think that we were killing her.
One thing that we pride ourself on, is giving our children an option on many things. Their hair being one of them.
None of our children want their hair cut. Not yet anyway.
We try to keep it trimmed and neat however.
Apart from our second, they get to enjoy their hair. They get buns, plaits, ponytails and they get to keep it loose on special occasions.
Our second child does not. Her hair gets plaited and in a bun on her head and it does not come down until the next morning where it’s brushed (to our trauma) and re-done.
And I do suffer from hair envy, having lost mine at nineteen.
By the age of eighteen my hair was half way down my back and then….nothing.
So when I see how my second child has to keep hers, it annoys me because I haven’t got any left and I wish I could trade places with her.
I would never moan or complain, I’d probably hop around in joy until people around me, worried about my sanity, would lock me up in a mental home. And I swear, it would be worth it because I’d have a full head of hair.