Dear Livia,<\/p>\n
I have a confession to make.<\/p>\n
Once upon a time, you would not let me brush your hair. You would scream, squirm, run away, or cry, “Ow! Ow! Ow!” It was frustrating, and sometimes you’d go whole days without getting your hair brushed, simply because I didn’t want to deal with it.<\/p>\n
I finally broke down and said something terrible. I said, “Livia, you need to let me brush your hair. If you don’t, spiders will start living in it! You don’t want spiders living in your hair, do you?”<\/p>\n
You did not. You absolutely did not want spiders in your hair. You immediately let me brush it.<\/p>\n
As the weeks went by, you discovered that having your hair brushed wasn’t so horrible. Soon you started letting me put your hair up. We discovered how cute you look in pigtails. We had some great mother-daughter bonding moments.<\/p>\n
That little lie of mine worked so well that I didn’t feel bad about it at first. I had purchased a lot of good behavior and happy moments at the cost of one tiny spider-shaped smudge on my soul. I reasoned that my lie was close to the truth anyway. It is possible to get pests living in your hair, just not usually spiders.<\/p>\n
But then one day Marshall wanted to brush your hair. When I asked why, he replied, “To make sure there are no tangles or spiders in there.” Then I felt bad. It was indeed a small lie, but it was misinformation that I didn’t want either of you to carry too far forward in life. I mean, if you mentioned something like that at school, people might make fun of you for your ignorance.<\/p>\n
So I told you the truth. I was surprised at how well you took it. Neither of you seemed upset. You just absorbed the new information and moved on.<\/p>\n
As I brushed your hair last night before bedtime, I marveled at how soft and shiny it is. I said, “Beautiful.” As you danced away, you replied, “Super<\/em> beautiful!”<\/p>\n That you are.<\/p>\n Love,<\/p>\n Mom<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Dear Livia, I have a confession to make. Once upon a time, you would not let me brush your hair. You would scream, squirm, run away, or cry, “Ow! Ow! Ow!” It was frustrating, and sometimes you’d go whole days … Continue reading