I don't know about you, but I can't seem to go anywhere without getting a phone call. "Mom, when are you coming home?" is the usual question. Can I not get to the TP aisle in peace, people?
The other day I was on a Walmart run (remember, Walmart is now 14 miles away) and my phone rang. Instead of the kids, it was Dennis.
"Are you coming home soon?"
Well, no, I'm in the produce aisle. At Walmart. The lines are 15 people deep.
"Annie-7 has a hairbrush stuck in her hair. Can you please hurry?"
Well of course, Honey. I'll just leave my three carts full of groceries right here by the bananas, and I'll be right home.
I could hear wailing in the background. Apparently she had found a round brush and had rolled it in knots. The more she tried to untangle it, the more tangled it became and the more hysterical she got. The brush was now sticking out of the top of her head like a unicorn horn.
I told him to find my Very Expensive Hair Straightener Spray that has Teflon in it. "Try that and let me know how it goes."
Yup, the girls have been playing "beauty shop" nonstop for weeks now. Here they are, setting up shop, without so much as clearing the peanut-butter-and-honey breakfast off the table first (no, we are not a licensed facility, just in case you were wondering, but if you ever come over to eat here, we'll be sure to look things over to make certain there are no hairs in your food).
A few phone calls later, still no luck. At this point, I'm feverishly rushing through the store trying to get home, imagining that frustration was going to overtake fashion sense, and I would come home to a crazed, wild-eyed husband, scissors in quivering hand, seven-year-old rocking in fetal position in the corner, and a mountain of hair on the floor.
At one point things got so bad, Dennis had Annie lie down on the sofa. There she lay, waiting for me, arms crossed resignedly, unicorn horn sticking straight up. Dennis didn't have the blog sense to take a picture of the scene, but here's one of Ruthie when she was 2, in the same boat:
Finally (about the time I was 4th in line at the checkout) Dennis called me again. He had Annie in the shower, pouring conditioner on her head and teasing the hairs out one by one. "We might need a bit more conditioner." (Oh, for a camera at that moment! I can just imagine his big man-hands holding her little head and thinking, How on earth did I end up with four girls?).
Victory at last.
I got home to find the beauty shop still set up - my Very Expensive Hair Straightener Spray bottle almost empty - Dennis calmly back at work, children unscathed.
And a round brush, full of long brown hair, in the trash.