A major hair crisis was averted today!
It was picture day for two of my three lovely ladies today. As you may remember from last year’s post, this is not one of my most favorite days of the year. As it were, today my Lord thought it would be entertaining to bless us with a torrential downpour. After I painstakingly straightened #2’s hair and sprayed it down, I delivered all my beauties to their respective educational institutions making me a mere 40 minutes late for work.
At 10:35am I received a call from a cell phone number I didn’t recognize. On the other end was the sobbing of a young girl that may or may not have been someone I birthed.
“Mommy?” (sniff, sniff, gulp) “I need to talk to you.”
“Okay… what’s up baby?”
“My hair fuzzed all out and it's a big puff ball.” (sniffle, gulp, sniffle, crackle) “Do you think you could get your straightener and come fix it before 11:10?”
NOTE: I work about 30 minutes from #2’s school. I had someone in my office and was waiting for a co-worker to call me.
“Uh, I can sure try.”
What was I thinking? How on earth was I going to tie up the loose ends here in my office, make a stop at home to grab the miracle hair tool, and make it to her school in time? Did I think I was super human?
I announced a hair emergency as I ran from the office. I darted in and out of traffic (I may have ran a red light and exceeded the speed limit by a number that may have given the state of Iowa cause to revoke my driver’s license). I ran into the house (in my heels), grabbed the straightener (and an athletic pass that one had forgotten at home earlier that day), and darted back out the door. The napping dog cracked an eye as if to say, “What are you doing, you crazy woman? Can’t you see I’m napping here?”
I raced to the middle school and tracked her down. She had obviously been crying at one point as her cheeks were still a little pink. I swept her off to the locker room and began my recon mission.
As it turns out some sadistic gym teacher forced his 11 thru 14 year olds to run laps and play volleyball on picture day. Doesn’t he understand that once my precious offspring even think about perspiring their naturally curly hair will immediately disregard the amount of time and product that has been spent trying to keep it straight as a pin? 
Who purposely inflicts this type of activity on hormonal tweens on a day that will forever be documented in history. We all have a school picture (or 3) we wish we could take back.
My resourceful little one borrowed a contraband cell phone from a classmate and sneaked off to a bathroom stall to put out an SOS to the only person on the planet she knew she could count on to make it right. She knew I would drop everything to help her out in this most important time. She gave me a time frame she knew I could make if I hurried. When her class was called down 20 minutes earlier than she had planned, she broke.
“My hair is supposed to be straight.”
“Your hair looks fine. Stand right here.”
“But my hair is supposed to be straight.”
At this point the principal intervened to see what was throwing off his meticulously oiled picture-taking production (seriously, there were walkie talkies involved!).
“My hair is supposed to be straight.”
“Your hair looks fine.” (He must not have understood that this line didn’t work for her homeroom teacher and that she was not going to be swayed by nicety.)
“My mom is already on her way to fix it.”
Now this man is no fool and has the sense of mind to understand that he has (a) a hormonal 12 year old on his hand and (b) a mother that is not going to be happy to show up at school to a hysterical child who was forced to have her picture taken looking like THAT while she ran her a** off trying to avert disaster.
“Why don’t your just stand off to the side until your mom gets here.”
Smart. Very smart.
