Hair-raising Expectations and Lamentations

Child Q was in tears, a result of anger more than sadness. Her mother didn't have time to straighten her hair, and thus, she had to face, yet, another day--curly!

The desire to have her hair straightened began early in the afternoon a day earlier. The evening was clear, no scheduled activities. Her mother, she thought, available. So she did what any curly haired budding young woman would do, she dreamed of straight hair. Not just any straight hair, her straight hair. Long. Dark. Flowing. She didn't share her dream with anyone. Why share a good dream anyhow? The risk of someone waking her up would be too great. So her dream continued long into the afternoon and into the early evening until it morphed into...The Great Hair Expectation!

What is it about hair that can change a perfectly good morning into a dreadfully dark melodrama? If it's curly we want it straight. If it's straight we want it curly. It's too thick. It's too thin. Too long. Too short. And my latest woe--too gray!

Yet, on this particular morning, child Q had a dilemma of the curly kind, and I couldn't seem to find a satisfying response to her lamentations.

Finally I said, "I'm sorry there wasn't time to straighten your hair last night."

Her upper lip stiffened as tears continued to well-up in her eyes.

"How long had you been hoping that there would be time to straighten your hair?" I asked.

"Since yesterday afternoon." She snipped.

"Oh, I see. Ya know, my mother always told me (yep, now that I've got the gray hair, I'm sounding a lot like my mother) not to have expectations...if you don't have expectations, you won't get hurt."

"I think I'm figuring that out," she said, arms crossed. I don't like life. It's not fair."

An understanding smile softened my face. "Yeah, I know." I said.

Then child Q trudged toward the door to catch her bus, curly hair pulled tight into a pony tail, as I realized....she's growing up.

Assaulted by the Green-Eyed Monster

Prologue

"It's not fair! She always gets invited to sleepovers." I could see the green ooze rising up in child Q's eyes as she spewed forth her injustice.

"Not true." I said. "You were just at a sleepover a few weeks ago, and you certainly have been to more birthday parties than child P."

I could see by child Q's pursed lips, scrunched nose and squinted eyes, that my opening arguments were not going to win the case. In her mind, an injustice was done and there was no way to rectify it.


Chapter 1

Ah jealousy. It creeps up on us. Twists our thoughts. Grabs hold of our hearts. I can see it clearly when it glows green in the eyes of the little women in my life, but what about when the green ooze rises up in my eyes? It's hard to see with green goop in my eyes, so I don't notice it at first. But for me, this is generally how it goes:

"You got your book published? How wonderful!" I say to the smiling author.

She beams back at me displaying a full set of perfectly whitened teeth and a California tan.

I grumble inside. She's just too perky. I bet that little perky personality landed her that book deal. I bet she doesn't have any kids at home either, and if she does, she's probably ignoring them and hiding out in her office somewhere writing as if she has no other responsibilities or her perfect husband sent her off to some remote beach house with a blessing spoken through shining white teeth: "Go ahead, Darling. I'll make dinner, help the kids with their homework, and even do the laundry while you're away. Don't you worry about a thing. And, Sweetheart, feel free to stay until your book's written...from the dedication to the epilogue." (And believe me, I've had worse thoughts, but one can't write such things on blogs about redemption--the readers might think I haven't been redeemed. :)

Yep, the green-eyed monster gets me sometimes, and when I finally take a peek at myself in the mirror, I hardly recognize myself. It's U-G-L-Y!


Chapter 2

So how do I slay this monster? I begin by praying for my victim--the one I thought all of those "wonderful" thoughts about. Then I think: Maybe that book deal has taken her years of blood, sweat, and, tears. Maybe underneath all the pretty teeth is a person who has tasted pain far greater than I've ever experienced. What if she died tomorrow or her husband or her child, would I still be jealous? What if...

And somehow, I don't feel so jealous anymore.


Epilogue

The morning of the sleepover was dreary and child P's eyes were heavy with fever. Child Q sat eating her cereal, healthy and strong. And I, having lived a few more years and having had to
slay a few more green-eyed monsters, took the time to pass along my hard-earned wisdom and explained to child Q how to raise her sword.