The Frustrated Nursemaid and the Thanksgiving Feast, A.K.A.: The Battle of the Braids

This morning, with mounting agitation, I attempted to get my girls dressed in new, hand-me-down clothing and to put braids in their hair to make them look like little Indians for their Thanksgiving Feast at preschool. They never keep any braids or ponytails in their hair for long…(I think the record is 15 minutes) so I don’t know why I was surprised and subsequently disappointed when my one daughter went in the other room and almost immediately took her braids out while I was doing the other one’s hair. It could be because I don’t do their hair very often or the fact that their hair was the ONLY thing that helped them to look remotely like little Indian girls, or the fact that they were up early again at 6 a.m. or that I’m pregnant and starting to get uncomfortable, but I was stressing and got frustrated with them.

The girl that hadn't taken her braids out emphasized that SHE had kept hers in, while looking pointedly at her sister. I tried to take a picture of the braided one and the other girl, who had taken hers out jumped in next to her sister to be in it too. They both felt pretty in their “new” clothes. As I looked through the camera screen trying to center the shot, I complimented the one who had KEPT her hair in and told her she looked pretty, the face of the other one FELL and I could tell immediately that I had injured her sensitive spirit by not including her in the compliment. I tried to tell her she looked pretty too, but the damage was done.

Downstairs, I realized, as their dad was hurriedly and masterfully trying to make cute Indian headbands for his adorable girls that the braided twin wanted to take her braids out too because they “hurt”. I sighed and helped unravel the fruit of my labor. When they were happily at preschool, I sat alone on the couch, stewing in my frustration about why I was so upset this morning.  With a sudden epiphany, I realized that my girls were not at the point where they would sacrifice their comfort for “beauty” and that I should be rejoicing in that thought. Silly Mommy! Rejoice in the integrity of their identities and the relative innocence of their hearts! Precious, precious girls!