Two hours. That’s all I was asking for, to go get my kid-induced gray hair colored (a hot new plum shade!) Two hours, out of a whole weekend. When my daughter heard I was leaving, she started bawling as if I was never going to come back, as if she hadn’t seen me in months. She’s SIX – separation anxiety? Really?!
Mommy Guilt kicked into high gear, and I examined my grays to see how bad they really were. She began begging and pleading to come with me. Hmmm, let me think, so that I have to eye her at all times and not enjoy the relaxing shampoo massage (pure luxury even if your neck is bent at an unnatural angle)?
“No, not this time, love”, I said (even though in my head it was more like “ARE YOU CRAZY? NO WAY!”) She could see it was a useless argument so she decided to up her game. As I tried to leave, she opened the hall closet door and blocked the opening with her 4 foot tall, crying mess of a body. “Sophie, please, I’m running late, I need to go,” I said edgily. I suddenly found myself in a push and pull battle with the door (so ridiculous!). Then, my son thought he would “help” by coming over and slamming the door across her foot to get her to move, making her cry even louder. “Thanks, Nathan!” I yelled sarcastically (because sarcasm rules), “I wanted her to move but I didn’t wanther injured!”
I _finally _got by, and she went to her room to cry and closed the door. I felt nauseous, and my heart ached. All this so I could get nice hair? Well, yes. I confidently went in her room, kissed her head and said “I love you, and I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” And then I high tailed it out of there.
P.S. The hair took FOUR hours, but it looks so rad!! What are your “trying to leave the house” horror stories?