Combing Out The Tangles

My daughter Sage has getting-longer-everyday blonde, unkempt hair. Finally shoulder length, my husband and son insist we let it grow, saying that they prefer long hair (and I have short hair, go figure!).

Now, for what it’s worth, Sage and I don’t care whether or not she has long hair. But, for now, it’s long. And, it’s a mess. The problem: she doesn’t want to comb it. And she doesn’t want me to. So, more often than not, she runs around with a veritable rat’s nest in the back of her hair. I don’t really mind (probably because I know what’s in store if I force a comb through her nest against her will . . . ).

She seems to prefer the wash-n-go look (and I totally get that). But there are days I’d love to coax her and her locks into a long, relaxing round of brushing. Her luxuriating in my gentle touch, her hair glistening in its blonde silky goldness, and me: full of pride at not having had to hog-tie my daughter to get a cute little bow in her shabby-chic locks.

Princesses we’re not. At least not the happily-ever-after kind. We’re the kind of princesses who don’t mind a little food on our clothes, chipped nail polish, or an unpolished ‘do. We’re the kind of princesses who like to eat ‘til our heart’s content, bunny hop around the house, and run around in our underpants.

We’re those princesses who are not waiting for our happily-ever-after. We’re those princesses who strive for happily ever in the moment. Doing our best to love what is: bow in or not.

No, no perfect hair for us. Just perfect moments. Getting clear on what matters. Tangles and all. Style vs. substance, my husband once said. I think I’d choose substance almost every time.