Spit is the old hair spray
Parenting makes you do weird things. I think maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, or perhaps the realization that simple comfort in the fact that “There are people doing this a lot worse than me” gives you a certain inherent freedom to do goofy things.
Things you would never have previously have done.
For example, I recall any number of times, back when the girls were younger, and I would have them out somewhere when I noticed that their hair was out-of-place. At this point I had three options: 1) Ignore it and hope that no one else saw the tangled hair that looked like Spanish moss hanging from the giant Live Oak tree’s in Charleston; 2) leave the store, get back in the car, buckle into the car seat, drive all the way back home, and brush the nasty beast back into submission; or 3) spit in my hand and rub a fist full of spittle across their head in hopes of smearing the offending follicles back to their tiny little head.
Guess which one I chose more often than not…
Because for some reason, since I was now a Dad, I felt like hocking a loogie and decoupaging my daughter’s hair to her scalp was an appropriate hair styling activity.
Why? Why did I think this was ok?
Because I would NEVER, if I was out in public by myself and had a hair issue think, “You know what would make your hair look great? Exactly…that’s right…a big glob of spit smacked upside your head would make your hair look great.”
I would not do that to myself, so why exactly did I think it was perfect grooming for the girls?
Repeat after me “Spit does not make hair look better.”
I can only imagine trying that one of the girls now that they are teenagers. If I came at their hair with a hand full of spit now, I would draw back a nub…
I blame the whole thing on the sleep deprivation,
Or their Mommy…I can blame anything on her right? (now excuse me as I run away for saying that, The Beautiful Bride is about to spit at me…and I’m pretty sure she is not trying to fix my hair.)