I call it helping.
Sitting Miss1 in a chair with a bottle, my wife pointed at our six year old this morning and gave me a one word instruction before racing off into the bowels of the house to find the rest of our children.
We were running late, which isn’t a totally unfamiliar scenario for our little family. Don’t you find the stressiest thing about running late is knowing something is about to happen to make the whole thing worse? This morning this thing was Miss6’s hair.
“Hold still,” I told her, and lay the brush on her head and attempted to draw it through her hair. Instead, the brush stayed in the one spot and her whole head moved. “What the hell?”
“I forgot I got icecream in my hair last night at carols,” said Miss6.
I attempted to draw the brush through again, and again the brush did nothing but act like a hook.
“I need a comb,” I told her. A shampoo and condition in the shower was out of the question because we had to leave in a couple of minutes.
But I couldn’t find a comb. In fact, I can’t remember ever owning one. Combs to me represent my uncles with their Brylcreem (good look) so I’ve tended to steer clear of them.
“Perfect,” I said, pulling a fork out of the a draw, and I set to Miss6’s hair like I was shredding chicken.
“Seriously?” Tracey said to me when she arrived back in the kitchen, having mustered the other kids ready for departure. “You sure you don’t want to straighten it with the iron?”
“It was either this or cut it out with a knife,” I shrugged.
That I’d made the right decision regarding my choice of cutlery became more obvious when we sat down to dinner tonight.
“Oww!” said Miss6. “Oww! Oww! Dad! Oww!”
I looked over just in time to see Miss1 swing her plastic fork down into Miss6’s head again like she was reenacting the shower scene from Psycho.
Thankfully, I managed to pluck the fork from our youngest daughter’s hand before she took another swipe.
“Hey! We don’t stab people in the head with forks!” I chastised Miss1.
“Yeah, can’t imagine where she got the idea for that from,” said Tracey.
I get the blame for everything.
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Bruce Devereaux hangs out at his Big Family Little Income Facebook Page
”Raising a family on little more than laughs.”