It started out as some family time in the living room. Both little ones, sitting on each side of me, squirming to get closer as they combed my hair and told me how nice it looked.
“Maybe, I need some more water, Mama? To make it smoove,” said the 3 year old.
“No, that’s enough– it feels nice,” I replied, knowing what a mess he makes transporting water around the house for his little projects.
My daughter massages my feet gently, barely with lavender lotion.
I take deep breaths and try to memorize the sweetness in the room. Why has it taken me 5 years to suggest foot massage?
My husband and I talk over the television as the children play beauticians. My son smooths my hair with his lotion covered hands. Whatever, I think… it’s okay just this once.
I turn to my left and my daughter is frozen with scissors in mid-air. I SCREAM OUT.
A six inch lock of hair has been cut. Her eyes are wide in horror. I don’t know what to say. I’m in shock.
Family beauty time must come to an abrupt end.