A Hairy Story

Yesterday was an age check.  For me. 

Annsley and I are on the couch going over her spelling words for the week.  I'm in the middle of reminding her that "c" says "s" before the letters e, i and y when she interrupts me and says, "Oh Mom!"

Before I know it, she is plucking a gray hair from my brunette tresses.  I, of course, am incredulous.  "Really?"

"It's right here," and she hands me the culprit.  "Oh, here's another one," and she passes its friend to me as well.

She has now positioned herself on the back of the couch and begins combing through my hair.  I'm moaning in protest.

"Oh Mom! They look shiny silver in the sun! You should be happy about that!"

I'm cringing as I watch her hand me evidence of my aging body. 

"Don't feel bad," she says.  "That's not terrible.  It's not like you're Grandpa."  Then she muses almost to herself, "I wonder what color of hair his real hair is..."

I just moan more.  "That's not bad at all Mom.  You have fewer white hairs than you have any other color!"

She's trying to cheer me up.  She keeps finding more though. "Have you found 20?" I ask.

"Oh, I've found over 100!" She's almost giddy. 

"I'm looking through your hair," she instructs me, "and every once in a while I see a flash of silver!"  Silence as she removes it from the roots, and then the thing that did me in, "Oh gosh! Here's a whole bunch!! There are like three of them right next to one another!"

She continues her quest.  I am mulling over the Loreal commercial of "Am I worth it?" Do they say that because it costs so much?  Before, I couldn't have cared.  Now that I might need it is a different story...

"Hey Mom! This one is half black and half white.  Want my to pull it???"

"Some of them look whiter than your shirt.  Not all I see have whiteness.  That's good."

She finds three more.  Now she says, "This is sad.  Are you going to cry?--Oooh! This one is sleek white! It stands out from ALL your hairs! Mom, just go to a salon."

I'm tiring quickly of her play by play.  Thankfully my phone rings.  I take advantage of it and get off the couch. 

After supper that evening, Annsley says, "Mom, would you come sit on the couch with me? I'd like to snuggle!"

I smile.  My baby girl may be 9, but she still wants her momma.  I sit down, and her eyes quickly divert to my hair. 

"You got me here to find more gray hairs?" I ask.  She nods.

I kid you not.  She spends two seconds looking through my hair and says, "Oh wow! Who would have thought I'd find one so fast!"