“Mom, will you braid my hair?” My daughter stands in front of me, brush and comb in hand. There are eight minutes before it’s time to leave for school, but her straight hair is easy to deal with, and I’m an expert braider.
Plus, my daughter never asks me to do her hair. This is a rare treat.
“Sure.” I take the brush. “I’d love to.”
“Could it be a French braid?”
I nod, rat-tail comb in my mouth, as I brush out knots I didn’t notice were there. Waist length, silky blonde; my daughter could be mistaken for an American Girl doll — except she’s not very demure.
“Stop brushing my forehead!” she screeches.
I drop the brush onto the kitchen table and use the comb instead. “It’s not my fault your forehead has knots,” I say.
That gets a giggle and also a yelp as I accidently brush her ear.
Lickety-split the rat-tail comb parts through sections. My fingers fly, somehow managing to wrangle long hair going in every direction. It’s 10 times harder than braiding my own short hair.
The Amazon Echo signals. “This is a reminder. It’s time to leave for school in two minutes.”
I tie off the first braid just as Alexa repeats herself. “This is a reminder —”
“Alexa, be quiet,” my daughter orders like a boardroom executive.
“Almost done,” I say cheerfully. The rat-tail comb goes back in my mouth. I twist, tuck and retrieve the comb to capture the last pieces of hair.
A minute’s left on the clock when disaster strikes. “What’s this crunchy bit?” My fingers tug through caramelized sugar.
“Ow!” my daughter yells. “Stop pulling!”
“Is this candy?” The almost-done braid tangles and the sections ripple apart. I’m forced to abandon everything and attack the crunchy bit with the comb.
My daughter jerks away and takes her hair with her. “That hurts!”
“This is the problem.” I show her the offending chunk of hair.
She sniffs it. “Hot chocolate.” She races to the bathroom to wash it out.
“This is a reminder, it’s time to go to school,” chirps the Echo.
“Shut up, Alexa,” I mutter under my breath. I rush to the bathroom and enter a cloud of detangling spray. One braid’s done. One braid’s hanging. I attack the second braid with gusto.
“Am I going to be late?” My daughter’s concerned expression reflects back at me in the mirror.
“No,” I lie. She’ll never make it to school in time now. We were supposed to walk out the door three minutes ago. “I’m almost done.” I weave in a few more sections and then bind the braid off with a hairband. “There,” I say, smiling at her in the mirror, “piece of cake. Why don’t you let me braid your hair more often?”
“Gee,” my daughter scowls as she hurries to collect her backpack. “I wonder why not.”
Jennifer Bardsley is author of the books “Genesis Girl” and “Damaged Goods.” Find her online on Instagram @the_ya_gal, and on Twitter @jennbardsley or on Facebook as The YA Gal.
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