I'm walking my 5-year-old daughter (with her beautiful kinky hair) to kindergarten one morning when she asks, "Why does my hair 'stick up' by the end of the day?" Thinking quickly, I reply, "Your hair is so happy to be on your head that, by the end of the day, it can no longer contain itself." This pleases her and I feel like Mother of the Year. It's Thursday night. We're waiting for my sons after swim class. I'm exhausted. I look disheveled. My daughter glances over at me and says, "Mom, today you have very happy hair."
Ipushed, was pushed, and pushed back, trying to make my way through the masses. Progress was slow. I was tired. But amid sweaty teenagers and a myriad of backpacks, I spotted a boy parting the crowd easily, so I followed behind my own personal Moses. To no avail. Beeep -- the bell sounded and, dangit, I was late along with a few fellow stragglers. In the now empty hallway, I ran to my next class. To my surprise, the teacher herself, looking slightly miffed, walked in behind me. A knowing smile passed between us. Traffic was terrible today.
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