Ingies n' Things

A story from February . . .

Conversations about motherhood often include discussion or at least mention of “rites of passage.” I believe that motherhood involves many, many rites of passage. I not only go through my own, but I also go through one each time one of my children does.

I have G to thank for ushering me through our latest rite of passage.

I’m not talking about anything requiring tissues or letters to grandparents or notes in baby books. I’m talking about the rite of passage that requires scissors.

Oh, you know what I’m talkin’ about . . .

I’m talking about having to cut something out of the hair of one of your children . . . something so embedded that the hair has to be cut, too . . . and not just a few piddly little strands.

Here he is . . .

Yes, that is a metal gun cleaning brush twisted in his hair . . . twisted down to his scalp. And yes those are eyes so tired they are purple. And yes that is a swollen left eyebrow . . . from a completely unrelated incident.

It was an eventful day.

Little man was sporting a nifty little patch of buzz cut by the time I was done with those scissors . . . right smack dab in the middle of his forehead. I never thought I’d be grateful for a cowlick. (Who decided to call them that, anyway? Weird.)

Salvaging the brush involved burning the hair out. Now there is a fragrance the people at the smelly candle factory haven’t captured.

Cheers,
D