If you decide to be nice.....

“Brooke,” Bianca pouted from the big red couch as the TV blared cartoons screaming in Italian. “I want curly hair, too!”

Ugh, the one time you want to do something girly I have to go pick up your brother in 5 minutes. I thought. Well, Emilio runs late most days anyway…fine. The straightner is still hot, guess I’ll give in.

“Ok, fine B.” I said. She jumped up and squealed with delight. “But I only have 5 minutes because I have to get Emi from the pool so it has to be fast!” She nodded and ran into the master bathroom.

I plugged the straightener back in and sectioned her short brown hair into two pig tails, the same ritual I go through when I decide to curl my hair. Bianca has a problem with taking baths. Basically, she hates taking them and is usually caked in a layer of dirt and grease. To my surprise, her hair was unusually clean as I continued to section it off and curl her hair piece by short piece.

10 minutes later and the deed was done.

“Do you like it, B?” I asked her with a smile.

“Yes! It’s the first time I have ever had it curled!” Bianca grinned ear to ear at her reflection and ran her fingers through her Shirley-Temple-esque locks. “Will it still be curly tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure, B,” I said and ran my fingers through the back of her hair to separate the curls. “Usually mine stays but my hair is also much longer than yours. So we will just have to see when you wake up.”

I put my stuff back in my room, washed my hands and left the house to pick up Emilio from swim.

As I made dinner and waited for Sabine to come home, I thought about the sweet moment B and I shared. Bianca is a handful. Rarely do we have sweet moments together. Most of the time she’s screaming at me that she hates me and can’t wait for me to leave – little does she know I feel the same. She is a very strong willed and wild 8 year old so remembering moments like this helps me attempt to stay patient with her.

Sabine finally came home as I was cleaning up the last of the dinner dishes. She said hello and made her way upstairs to greet the children. I could hear her excitement as she told Bianca how beautiful her hair looked.

Score one for Nanny Brooke! I thought to myself. I guess today wasn’t as bad as I thought. Haha, guess I don’t need to be Mary Poppins for the kids to behave.

As Sabine re-entered the kitchen I asked, “Did you see Bianca’s hair? She was so excited about it!”

“Yes, it does look so good!” She said with a smile. “I was surprised that you touched her hair while she has the small animals in it.”

WAIT. HOLD UP. SMALL ANIMALS?!?!?!  My inner monologue screamed.

“WAIT. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SAYING,” I said to her as I dropped the dishes I was washing in the sink. “You mean because she’s always filthy and hates washing her hair right??” I could feel my eyes widening in horror as I prayed that that was exactly what she meant.

“No, she has the bugs in her hair. Didn’t I tell you?” She asked, laughing and smiling like this was some kind of hilarious sitcom. “We had to wash her hair with special shampoo last night, it cost like 30 euro!”

“You’re absolutely joking, right?” I could feel my ears getting hot and turning red, the sign that I was t-minus 10 seconds from absolutely losing my temper and freaking out on Sabine.

My mind started racing. Could she not see the 3 feet of long blonde hair that I cherish more than I probably should? Did she not realize the amount of time I spend taking care of my hair and the amount money I spend on hair care products? Not once in my 23 years have I had lice, and I plan on keeping it that way.

“Sabine, I had breakfast with you for 40 minutes this morning. Why did you not tell me that Bianca has LICE?!?” My voice went up into a strangled mess at the end of my question as I stopped myself from screaming the name of the foul bug that had ruined one of the few good memories I have with Bianca.

“I didn’t think it was important,” she said, still laughing failing to realize the severity and intensity of my rage at the situation. “Bianca wants you to curl her hair before school every morning now. We will go to the store and get her a straightener of her own.”

I’m pretty sure my jaw was on the floor at this point. If this woman actually thought that I would go anywhere near Bianca’s filthy mane she had another thing coming. And if her biggest concern was buying Bianca a brand new straightener, I was about to set the record straight.

“Absolutely not. Sabine, there is not enough money in the world that would bring me to ever touch her hair again – ever. I absolutely refuse. In fact,” I threw my hands up for dramatic flair, “I’m going to go burn every article of clothing I wore today and soak my straightener in a combination of bleach and rubbing alcohol. Because if I get lice, I will literally quit.”

Sabine continued to laugh as I fumed. I think there was actually steam coming out of my ears. What Sabine failed to realize is that there are few superficial things that I genuinely care about - my hair being at the top of that list. 

Just so I can paint a clear picture: You can borrow my shoes and accidentally ruin them. You can borrow my favorite outfit and get a huge red wine stain on it. You can steal my boyfriend and get married and ask me to be your maid of honor. But, the moment anything happens to my hair and there is someone to directly blame, you better believe that person is dead to me.

It’s been 24 hours and my hair is not itching or moving, so I hope beyond hope that I come out of this situation lice free. 

An important lesson was learned yesterday – If you decide to be nice, you’ll probably get lice.

Until next time,
(Is my head actually itching now or is it because I just wrote this? Is your head itching now, too? THIS IS MADNESS.)


Brooke JohnstonComment