Wax on

When you have numerous small children, mornings can be somewhat hectic. As the entire family bustles around trying to eat breakfast, manage morning hair and match socks, I often find myself right in the center of the chaos. The result is often that my morning primp time usually ends up being a prototype of mutli-tasking. Sometimes I’m successful. Sometimes I’m not.

Unfortunately, this morning was a “not.” I turned on the curling iron, ran downstairs to locate clean laundry, and then ran back up with a bowl of cereal in one hand and a pair of snow boots in the other. I made my way down the hallway, completing a mental checklist along the way, and finally arrived back to the bathroom. I grabbed the curling iron and quickly ran it through my hair in spots strategically chosen to make it appear as if I had really had time to do my hair.

At first, I didn’t notice the stickiness. I didn’t notice that my hair appeared unusually crispy after I curled it. And I didn’t notice the candle that had been sitting next to the curling iron as it had heated. But as I finished the job and ran my hands through my curls, I absolutely did notice something was very, very wrong. My hair looked like something out of Madame Tussauds. As I looked at the iron and then at the candle, I finally put it together. I had just waxed my hair.

A quick look at the clock told me I had a real problem. Desperate, I leaned my head over in the sink and tried to wash out the waxiest parts. Fifteen minutes and one painful combing process later, my hair was still a little stiff—but passable.  As I ran downstairs, my oldest son looked at me with furrowed brows.

“Mom, why is your hair so...?”

“Don’t ask,” I muttered.

Then I added “Buy a new curling iron” to my list of things to do.