My daughter, Christiana, babysits the most adorable little girl. She’s nine months old with big brown eyes and a mass of jet black hair. Sometimes, Christiana will text me pictures of her doing something cute. I’ve never even met this kid (or her parents), but her antics always make me smile.
Today, the text read,
“Maleah just rubbed her peanut butter hands all in her nice long hair.”
“What a mess! I thought. “Peanut butter doesn’t come out of anything easily.”
I texted back: “Oh no! You’ll have to give her a bath!”
The last time one of my kids had peanut butter in his hair was during The Great Bubblegum Debacle of 2010. We used peanut butter to try to dislodge a wad of gum that had been hiding in my eight year-old’s unruly hair for months. Then we remembered we were supposed to use an ice cube to get the gum out. Whoops! Ultimately, we resorted to SCISSORS. To this day, he still runs every time we threaten to chop those luscious locks.
But I digress.
I don’t often get peanut butter all over my hands, but when I do the last thing I think of doing is putting those same hands in my hair.
But why not?
A bath in the middle of the day! Hair washing! How utterly luxurious!
Have you ever had your hair washed by somebody else? It might just be the most glorious thing humans ever get to experience this side of heaven.
I always say that if I ever become a rich person I’m going to go to the salon twice a week just to have my hair washed and blown out by a professional.
Sometimes I think we overcomplicate joy, as if a fancy vacation or a new wardrobe will make all our despair disappear.
You know what’s weird? If I were to draw a graph with money spent on the X-axis and my happiness on the Y-axis, it wouldn’t be a line that goes up and to the right. I think there’s plenty of proof that money does not equal happiness.
And besides, today I’m thinking only of peanut butter.
And a good shampoo.
My husband sometimes talks about how is grandma used to wash his hair in the sink when he was a little boy. I don’t remember my grandma ever washing my hair, but she did like to to brush it. She would sit next to me on the couch and brush and brush and brush my curly hair until I looked like a younger version of Al Pacino as Phil Specter.
A few years ago, I discovered something called a tingler. It’s this little claw like device that you move back and forth across your scalp, and yes, it’s pretty cool, but the tingler will never replace a good salon hair washing.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t really feel like I need big things to make me happy. There’s a whole lot of joy to be had right in my own house. I’m probably NOT going to put peanut butter in my hair on purpose, but I will eat a spoonful or two.
I like to mix mine with chocolate chips.
And then, maybe if I’m lucky, I can convince my husband to wash my hair in the sink….