Every Hair Has a Place on Picture Day

Just as I was getting ready to sit down and write my blog, I saw the school note and picture order form reminding me tomorrow is picture day for O's school.

PICTURE DAY?  What will O wear?  She hasn't had a bath since Saturday.  (Don't ask.) The only thing new in her closet since last fall is the Missoni dress I bought her from Target that crazy day last month when every woman in the country was running from Target to Target in cyberspace and beyond just to get their hands on some zigzag.

And her hair?  Oh my, her hair has not been cut since July.  Do you think Cartoon Cuts has a 7:30 am tomorrow?  MMMM...probably not.  Think Tasha.  Think.  You see, this is the time when I wish I or one of my neighborhood friends would have graduated from beauty school.  Seriously, at this point, I would even be OK with a beauty school dropout cutting my daughter's hair.  All O needs is a quick trim around the edges to cut off the split ends.

When I was a teacher I clearly remember wondering why children would show up to our classroom mismatched and unkempt.  Now, as a parent, I totally get it.

Why comb hair?  O screams whenever I try and it's just going to get tangled again anyway.  My friend, Shelley used to say, "Every hair has a place.  Pin the strands that need a little extra help and let the rest fall as it may."  Really?  Well what about the gray one sticking straight out of the top of my head?  Every time I think I've found the perfect pin to hold it down, it pops back up and my closest friends have no problem mentioning their concern as to why I have a bobby pin holding back my hair at the top of my forehead.  Then again, that is why they are my closest friends.

You know what?  I have to be honest, there's a part of me that wants to send her to picture day the way she goes everyday.  No need for an early morning haircut.  No need to brush her hair.  It will be tangled.  She can pick out the headband she wants to wear even if it is florescent yellow.  She can pick out her outfit.

Yes.  Tomorrow I will send her mismatched and unkempt.  After all, she's five.  It's the only time of her life where she can have un-brushed, tangled split ends and wear whatever she wants with pride.  No one will question her ragga-muffin hair or her uncoordinated outfit.  No one except her mother.  Her mother?  Wait, I'm her mother.  Kindergarten SUCKS!