- November 18, 2024
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When my wife was out of town recently, I was left with one of fatherhood's most terrifying tasks: fixing your daughter’s hair.
“Do you know the best number of pony tails?” Ellie, 4, asked me before school.
“How about one?”
“The best number of pony tails is two,” she said.
One, I can handle. Shove it through the hair tie, twist, shove it through again, done. But two requires a sixth sense, like pinning tails on donkeys, or parallel parking.
“Hold still,” I said. I did my best, gathering her curly brown hair into two distinct bouquets and cinching them up tight. But when I attempted to admire my handiwork, no admiration was warranted. One ponytail was about halfway up her head, and the other was too low.
Two more tries later, and the pony tails were secure and relatively even.
But, look at the time! We have to go, and there’s still nothing ready for show-and-tell! The letter of the week is M.
“I want to bring Rainbow Monkey,” she said.
“Can’t find Rainbow Monkey,” I said, pawing through the bin of stuffed animals. “How about this monkey instead?”
“That’s a bunny.”
“Are you sure? Looks like a monkey.”
She laughed, with her typical disregard for the passing time and our impending tardiness.
“How about this?” I said, holding up a unicorn. “It’s a ‘municorn,’ get it?”
She didn’t reply.
Back to the bin. And then, in a classic example of deus ex machina, Minnie Mouse appeared.
Ellie was satisfied. Two M’s! She said, “You are a great helper, Daddy.”
