Small things
I notice that with spouse away, the boys do not come into the bedroom in the morning. Usually they bowl in together to announce their pull-up and bed status, wet or dry, at 50 decibels, twice over. Whilst he is away in “England,” I am no substitute. I am left to slumber in blissful peace.
Nevertheless at 5:25 a.m. which is really 6:25 a.m. due to Daylight Savings, I am forced to quit my steaming pit and lumber downstairs to calm the screaming masses. Sunday is pancake day, all of them are on the cusp of malnutrition. I stick the thermometer in my ear before I greet them, just to check that I am keeping the fever at bay: 99.1, let's keep it that way.
We meet and greet as I discretely pat their derrieres for more checking. Dang! More laundry. I shelve laundry duty and commence pancake making. I grab oranges, celery, carrots and sweet peppers, shout a warning and stuff them all through the juicer. I am no nutritionist but I suspect that they may collectively hide healing properties for pre-teens and their acne.
I am in everyone's dog house due to a failure to use my executive function. We have two outstanding issues to resolve, they are in my pending file:- “dog,” which breed, age and sex is the first matter.
The second matter is determination of the 'correct' age that youthful American womenfolk may shave their armpits. Strangely the second issue takes up far more of my working brain capacity that the former. I discover that I have no terms of reference for this issue. There was no such thing as a pre-teen when I was one. I had no idea who, if anyone, had underarm hair, as arm pits were never on display. I do know that if you can't cut a slice of bread with a knife, you should not be allowed within fifty paces of a safety razor.
The pay off for walking to school was the possibility of acquiring a “dog.” The household member who is not sold on the dog theory of motivation is currently in England, for another week.
“I just don't get it!” she whines. “If we get the dog whilst he's away it'll be a fate accomplished!”
I look at my daughter. I keep a straight face. The boys burble quietly, “batteries not included, batteries not included, batteries not included.”
“That would be very underhand dear. Daddy and I make big decisions together.”
“Bukugan sting! Bukugan sting! Bukugan sting!”
“So? Getting a dog isn't a big decision, it's a quick little decision.”
“Geronimo! Geronimo! Geronimo!”
“Daddy thinks it’s a big decision.”
“Well if getting a dog is a big decision, what about the other decision? Surely that's nothing, a real no brainer.”
Her emphasis doesn't escape me, but I let it ride.
I am struck by a thoroughly brilliant idea, prompted by a recent email.
“Tell you what!”
“What?” is the desultory response between gritted teeth.
“Your big sister will be back in ten days.”
“Really!” she perks.
“Yes. She'll know all about that sort of thing. We'll ask her what we decided when she was your age.”
“That's no good! You'll just do the same stupid thing you did with her!”
I bite my figurative tongue. I need to re-learn this skill and practice it for the next eight plus years.
“You're right. I have a better idea.”
“What?” she sighs.
“You can talk it over with her. She's cool. She's young. Whatever she thinks is best is exactly what we'll do. Deal?”
“Deal!”
I nudge the glass of juice towards her and deflect her chilled glance. My son gasps wide eyed and begins to sputter, “ you, you, you have….a magic…….an…….invisible…….ring on yur head!”
My hands instinctively fly up. Nothing.
“She's got hat hair!” explains my daughter in a voice of dripping ice, tossing back a curtain of silky tresses. “Yur not gonna go out like that are you Mom!” It's more of a statement than a request. I reach over for my baseball cap and ram it back on my head, “sorted!”
She steps away with the downwards head shake of those whose patience is exhausted.
I glug the rejected juice, slowly. In just over a week my first born, live child will return to the chicken ribbed, bosom of her family. My tree hugging, save a whale, worship the planet, no make-up, no nonsense daughter……….. and we all know the number one criticism that American's have about European women's underarms! I place the glass in the sink, empty, it's bound to be good for peri-menopausal, prematurely senile women too.
March 9th, 2008 at 11:35 pm
“fate accomplished” – love it!
Good luck with decisions one AND two. Having boys, I guess I will not have to deal with decision two, and as for decision one, the daddy nixed that one a long time ago.
You must be excited to have your eldest back with you…can’t wait to hear her take on decision two.
Heidi
March 10th, 2008 at 1:25 am
Hee hee… hat hair. This happens to me all the time!
March 10th, 2008 at 4:11 am
Oooh, what a decision, I don’t envy you. I guess if she’s old enough to actually have armpit hair that people can see, then she’s old enough to shave…or is that not how it works anymore? BG
March 10th, 2008 at 6:02 am
You’re doing just fine, darlin. Hang in there.
March 10th, 2008 at 6:05 am
Well I was a swimmer so we were shaving probably much earlier…. What kind of dog?
March 10th, 2008 at 6:18 am
A chat with the pharmacist/make-up counter clerk (they have a title…) on what hair removal product would work, would probably be the best and advoiding rasors too. The other is an electric rasor, but I found they only worked well when you were covered in Poison Ivy or scabs from soccer cleats….
S
March 10th, 2008 at 6:24 am
LOL, ah the mayhem, the early adolescent unhappiness, the horror of hat head and early mornings, the begging for a dog….have you been to my house recently?
March 10th, 2008 at 6:32 am
The dog conversation around here is ongoing. Daddy is also away, at regular intervals for long periods, so we’re fighting the “what dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him” argument as well.
Shaving armpits?! She can’t be old enough for that yet, can she? But I’ll admit that I’m a firm believer that the hair is there for a reason and only shave when it’s going to show (and feel like a sell out when I do). Wow, I’m awfully glad to have boys right now.
March 10th, 2008 at 6:32 am
What strikes me most about this exchange…okay aside from the boys’ interjections of echolalic phrases (sort of like having the radio on in the background any more isn’t it?)…the utter NORMALCY of the conversation. This could have been a conversation between my sister and her girls a few years ago.
Can’t wait to hear what your elder daughter has to say on the matter of shaving. I know you’ll be glad to see her no matter what!
March 10th, 2008 at 6:42 am
haha, you handled that well.
March 10th, 2008 at 7:15 am
hehe I so remember wanting to shave and be all grown up. I had no one to guide me really. I am glad you are shielding her form growing up too fast.
March 10th, 2008 at 7:27 am
My daughter like using my deodrant, haven’t a clue why, she’s 8.
Crystal xx
March 10th, 2008 at 7:48 am
Shaving armpits really was a very easy decision over here: you start shaving when something visible (from an armslength or so away) actually starts growing there. If nothing grows, no reason to shave. If you want to shave it off, that is. I was lucky in having very sparse hair under my armpits that didn’t really start growing until I was 17 or so.
March 10th, 2008 at 8:44 am
I think I was in sixth grade. About elevenish. And it was only because there were one or two stray hairs and I plucked them and they kept coming back and it was summer and I was on the swim team…
Anyways, mom bought me an electric razor. They are much nicer these days and not too expensive. Perhaps you could try that until she is better with a razor? If not, there’s always nair…
March 10th, 2008 at 9:12 am
Lady, you can write a narrative. I love it.
March 10th, 2008 at 9:31 am
as for what sort of dog, i can wholly recommend a lurcher. or a greyhound. over here there are a lot of older greyhounds who have finished their racing career – maybe the same over there. the one thing i would very strongly advise is DON’T GET A PUPPY! (i had to resort to capitals in spite of my phobia of them in order to get the point across!)
puppies are cute, and there are loads of well-worn arguments about why you should have one, but believe me it would not work in a house with ! what you need is an older (at least 4 years old) rescue dog who will be laid back and unphased by the noise and movement in your house. while a puppy might be unphased it would certainly be geed up!
March 10th, 2008 at 5:03 pm
I agree with Norah. My armpit hair started to grow when I was 11 years old, and that’s when I started shaving. My Mom showed me how, and then would buy me razors. The next year I started shaving my legs and bikini line (on beach days).
March 10th, 2008 at 6:28 pm
Well, I have to comment on the dog. My boys want one too. There is no doubt…NO DOUBT that it would be child number three and I would be doing all the dirty work. That is the only reason we haven’t gotten one … YET.
March 10th, 2008 at 7:45 pm
I have no idea when I started shaving my armpits. I think it just sorta happened as hair appeared, but since I never wore sleeveless things, it just wasn’t that important. I know legs didn’t start until I was well into high school. I’m light, so light leg hair gets to grow longer before it’s noticed.
By the way, I hate dogs. It’s just one of those things. No dogs.
March 10th, 2008 at 9:21 pm
I was in Germany until 7th Grade. Once I came back to the US I started shaving, because other kids were so mean.
March 11th, 2008 at 6:23 am
Oh sweetheart please tell your smallest daughter, exactly what my mother told me…
Quote.. Don’t shave your underarm hair because it will grow back thicker and stinkier,, But if you must.. (and she will) give her a good razor etc etc all the while telling her it is her decision… and try not to smile when she nicks herself… oh dear..I wish I had listened to my mum…(((hugs))) kim
March 11th, 2008 at 7:04 pm
Does this armpit shaving desire have anything to do with her friend? Maybe she’s feeling a little bit pressured by the friend. Good luck!