The day began ordinarily enough. I drug myself wearily into the bathroom to tame my humidity phobic hair down into one manageable zip code. I plugged in my beloved and faithful Chi, only to discover as I attempted to run it through my pouffy hair, that it was stone cold.
No amount of pleading, cajoling, or threatening could revive it.
Fiddledaddy stood afar and watched as I actually stomped my foot and yelled at the now lifeless Chi.
The rest of the day went downhill from there.
In defense of the Chi, I really do not think that the tone for my day was set by unmanageable pouffy hair, but the situation was simply an unhappy coincidence.
It was the type of day wherein I felt compelled to question God regarding his wisdom in entrusting me with 3 children, much less in my ability to homeschool them. Homeschooling that morning was something akin to wading through mud, and teasing, taunting, and general misery were the order of the day for the 3 reluctant students.
Then there was the unexplained depression and overall sadness that I could not shake to save my soul.
I was scheduled to attend our monthly homeschooling mom’s Bible Study that night, and I had already decided mid-afternoon to climb into my pajamas directly after dinner and curl up into the fetal position.
But then my SIL, Trish, called and did her dead level best to talk me into coming. In other words, she played the guilt card. As we were both raised in the Catholic faith, she knows where my weaknesses lie.
I seriously considered attending in my pajamas, but of course envisioned being involved in a fender bender, a speeding ticket, or worse.
I must say, that I spent two and a half hours that evening in the company of 6 other homeschooling mothers who are often in the same sinking boat that I’m hanging onto. The evening was insightful, encouraging, and I found myself laughing for the first time all day.
When I arrived back home, I found the following waiting for me on my bathroom counter.
Fiddledaddy dipped into my Bed, Bath, & Beyond coupon stash and took the family out to buy me a little present. (And btw, my birthday was a month ago. But I’ll go with it.)
Never underestimate the importance of the ability to have a good hair day.
And the healing power of a husband and children’s simple act of kindness to make a weary mommy feel awfully special.