Tuesday, October 17, 2006

The girl hair conundrum

Proving that the Scheduling Gods have a sense of humor, DT is the parent who picks WonderGirl up from school on Tuesdays, aka Ballet Days. It's the only day he can reliably leave work early enough to get her, and (I think) they both enjoy the Dad/daughter time. She has a snack, then he takes her to ballet, gets her dressed in her regulation-pink leotard and regulation-pink tights, and makes sure she doesn't walk in the parking lot in her regulation-expensive ballet shoes.

When she started ballet at this studio, I knew it was a bit more traditional than the 8-week ballet sessions she'd been doing at the local Y. There were prescribed colors to be worn by each level of dancer, frou-frou Disney princess ballet skirts were scrupulously not allowed, costume fees were equal to the GDP of small neighborhoods (let's assume that metric actually exists), and the "real" recital by the older classes requires a ticket for admission.

Along with all of this came the entreaty that we pull our daughters' hair back into a bun for class. I never expected this to actually happen on WonderGirl's head; my sole bow to the request has been that I make sure she starts the day with a ponytail. Past that? Not much I can do. Then, two weeks ago, she left class with a typed, 11-point set of directions for making a bun. Two of the steps include hairspray; four include bobbie pins. The word "wispies" is used.

Watching DT read the steps was one of the funnier moments I've had in a while. The man can get blood from a 26-week preemie; he can execute the necessary joint locks to stabilize a 350-pound twelve-year-old; he can (somewhat) navigate the new Medicaid HMO system. He cannot, apparently, make a bun out of girl hair. I'm curious to see how far the studio will take things, because rarely have I seen him so riled with the injustice of a request as when he realized they would expect him to create order out of the chaos that is WonderGirl's head.

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Rocco is perceptibly better. (Again, let's just assume "perceptibly" is a word.) He is standing a bit more on his own power and has taken a few steps here and there. He's not normal, though. We went to the doctor yesterday and had some reassuring bloodwork results. Our usual pediatrician expects it may take a few more days, but that the issue will resolve on its own. The current diagnosis is toxic synovitis resulting from a previous viral infection, of which there have been many. (The official ER diagnosis? "Refusal to ambulate." Uh, yeah. After making fun of the ER diagnosis, what did our pediatrician write on the billing sheet? Two guesses. Oh, look, you only needed one guess!)

Last night, he had the strength and energy to walk around in circles, cackling in shared hilarity with WonderGirl. (Circles on purpose, or left hip lagging behind, I don't know...) Watching them was good for my heart, and I'm feeling a bit more confident that he's going to be okay. Truth is, I'm exhausted from worrying, though. I want a boring, healthy week, and I want it now.

2 comments:

Suz said...

Oh, Ruth, I hope that you get your boring week soon! And, for that matter, DT might need one too. Hairspray....bwhahaha.

Allison said...

I'll add my wishes for a boring, healthy week...

...why are ballet teachers so obsessed with stray hairs and leotard uniformity? I can't think of one other activity that requires so much persnickety preparation for practices, for crying out loud. I will put in a word for those little cheap invisible hairnets you can get at drugstores, though. They are the only way I can get my daughters' buns to stay secure and wispy-free.