At the end of last week, I went to San Francisco for three days. Leading up to the trip, Mike was really nervous about being at home alone with the kids.

Yes, waking up super early and getting home from work by 6pm so our nanny can leave on time and putting the kids to bed before they go berserk are all things Mike would have to deal with all by himself. But that wasn’t what he was really worried about. He was scared about his ability to do Mazzy’s hair.


Everyone always says Mazzy has amazing hair, which she does, but having so much hair comes with drawbacks too. Mazzy’s hair is long, heavy, knotty and an absolute beast to style. Barrettes won’t close and ponytails fall out if not done correctly. She’s also cursed with a small forehead (like me) so that if her hair isn’t pinned back, it falls directly into her eyes. She needs to have her hair styled in some kind of up-do or braid to be a productive child in society. Or at least one that won’t bump into walls because a wall of hair is hanging in her face.


Obviously, Mike was not up to the task of doing the elaborate braids Mazzy requests on a daily basis (Thanks, Anna and Elsa), so I had to come up with some easier solutions.


I even showed him this genius ponytail vacuum trick I found on YouTube.

“Yeah, that’s cool. But isn’t it also kind of disgusting?”

I agreed. It’s pretty disgusting.

I had Mike watch me do a live tutorial of the easiest hair-do I could think of— hair parted in the middle, a small plastic barrette holding the hair back on either side.


Then I showed him how to use a headband in combination with a low ponytail or pigtails.


“Can you walk me through the brushing part again?”

Wow. This was going to be harder than I thought. He didn’t even understand that you have to hold sections of the hair tightly on the top in order to get the knots out on the bottom. No wonder there is so much screaming every time Mike touches Mazzy’s hair.

After a pep talk and a few more lessons, Mike assured me he could do it.

I went on the trip. No calls for help from Mike or CPS calls from the school wondering why my daughter looked like she wandered in off the street. All seemed fine.

Later that afternoon, I texted Mike. “How did the hair thing go?”

“Went great.”

“Did you use the two barrettes with hair parted in the middle?”


“The headband with a low pony?”


“What did you do?”

And that’s when my husband sent me the picture of my daughter in a pink sequined fedora.


“You’re serious? That’s how Mazzy went to school????”


“Where did that faux fur vest come from?”

“She found it in her closet.”

Mazzy goes to school with kids as old as 8th grade and I prayed none of them would make fun of a kindergartener for showing off her personal style.

The following week, I was back and dropped Mazzy off at school.

“Mazzy made quite the splash in her outfit last week,” the teacher informed me.

“Did she really wear that pink hat all day?”

“Oh yeah. She owned that hat. She wore it the entire day with her fur vest. She even decided the stars on her dress didn’t match her vest and took it off.”

“The vest?”

“No, the dress.”


“She wore her leggings, the fur vest and her hat.”


What I wanted to say was: “That outfit sounds like it belongs on a male stripper.”

“Don’t worry, she had a t-shirt on underneath. She looked fantastic,” the teacher assured me.

I guess I can’t look at Mazzy’s kindergarten journey through the lens of my own painfully self-conscious experience in school. Mazzy is clearly her own animal. An animal unleashed when mom goes away and nobody is around to control outfit choices.

At least she didn’t bang into any walls because her hair was hanging in her face. That’s what’s most important right?


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