BloPoMo Day 6: Childhood Therapy

For the past two nights, I have engaged in an old childhood ritual: I have taken my daughter’s dolls and untangled and combed out their hair. I sit on the couch and comb out the dolls’ hair, feeling it smoothen out and grow silky under my ministrations. There is something terribly soothing about it. It reminds me of the simple contentments of childhood and of sweet moments brushing my daughter’s quick-growing hair when she was an infant. As I do go through these motions, I feel myself calming and a peace coming over my soul in the simple action of tidying up something and making it lovely (even if it is just a doll’s coiffure).

Even though, tonight, I am weary and tired from a full day and I feel a touch on the weepy side, I can take deep breaths and sink into the sweet simplicity of this act and just be.

Sweetest Feelings

lovely_hair_tumblrFresh from her bath, the scents of black currant and vanilla clinging to her moist skin like a luscious wrap, she sat on the edge of her bed. Sighing, she reached up to the rollers that held her hair captive and began sliding the clips that held them fast out one by one, drawing the rollers from her hair. A smile curved her lips as the curls of hair pulled free from the implements and bounced, soft and fragrant, around her head and face. Lavender and peach caressed her cheeks, neck, and shoulders as she slid the rollers free, tossing them back into their bag, while the clips descended into their own.

When, at last, all the rollers were removed, she plunged her hands into her own hair joyfully, feeling the sumptuous tendrils gliding luxuriously through her fingers. This was her moment of beauty and bliss. This was where she was utterly free and powerful. Here alone, in this moment, she was perfect. Her body clean and soft, her skin warm, and her hair spilling delicious scents with each toss of her head. The sheets and covers felt softer against her than before, her senses heightened with pleasure in herself. She just laid there in the silken cloud of her hair, letting herself be a goddess.

Just five minutes more.

Fascinating Facets

I sit with my daughter in my lap as she indulges in some Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood. As she sits quietly (a rare occurrence in and of itself), I take advantage of the opportunity to wrap her lovely pigtail curl around my finger and find myself once again mesmerized as I twirl it again and again and again.

Her hair is soft and glossy and smooth, as soothing as silk as I coil it around my finger. As I do and the curl tightens, I find myself marveling at it. It almost looks like an ombre candy cane, composed of shades of brown sugar and sable, though it is also shot through with bright copper and even honeyed blonde in some spots.

Her hair is smooth like her father’s but also curly like mine naturally is. She gets the shades of brown with red highlights from us both, but the shot of blonde is her father’s, as are her long eyelashes. We deal with the snaggles and tangles and she hates every minute of me combing them out of her hair. When her hair is loose, it is curly and fun and wild; when it is combed into pigtails or a ponytail, it is cute and coquettish. Either way and both, she is brilliantly lovely and I am constantly fascinated by the work of art that is my daughter’s hair. It is beautiful and unique and perfectly suited to her sunshiny, smiling face.

I dream of what that hair will be like some day, falling over her shoulders in abundant, glossy curls that bounce, the most superlative physical complement to my girl’s own buoyant spirit.