A. S. Nathan
As my daughter floats in and out of childhood and flirts with pre-adolescence I am constantly reminded that my position as end-all-be-all is in serious jeopardy.
While yesterday I was able to miraculously make kitchen ingredients into playdough, cut peanut butter sandwiches into butterflies, paint fingernails alternating colors and wear my shimmering mama crown proudly, today I am simply incapable of making a ponytail.
It was...
too loose
too tight
too low
too high
too bumpy
and of course
off to the side.
Luckily I enlisted the help of a 14 year old neighbor who was able to pile my daughter's "thickest hair I've ever seen" (as told by veteran hairdressers) into the perfect...
not too loose
not too tight
not too low
not too high
not too bumpy
and of course
perfectly centered ponytail
in a matter of seconds.
Of course it looked exactly like the ponytails I'd fashioned for my daughter many times, but the fact was it was better because I didn't do it.
My daughter, nonplussed by the whole experience, kissed me and went on her merry way, ponytail swinging back and forth in the unseasonably warm mid-March morning breeze.
And I went to the kitchen to make peanut butter sandwiches, and polish my tarnishing crown.
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