It’s 5:30 a.m. Mama
enters the ring. She stretches the pink
ponytail holder at her wrist, loosening it up.
Jordan plays in her crib, not bothering to look up. Wild dark and knotted curls cover her face
and neck like a beekeeper’s mask might.
“Here’s the deal, Kiddo,” says Mama. “This ponytail holder is going in that hair. That’s the way it is.”
Jordan gurgles under her breath a message only Mama can
understand. “I don’t think so, Mama. My hair is wild and free. It’s unique just like me. And I like it down.”
“Big talk for a little girl,” Mama counters. “But, you can’t see two inches in front of
your face to play or defend yourself from the other kids. Most importantly, everyone knows all Moms are
judged by their children’s appearance. I
have 90 pounds on you. This. Is. Happening…”
“Oh, Mother. Let’s
not kid ourselves,” Jordan sets down her toy cellphone and peers up at Mama
from underneath her mane. “Your weight
advantage is no match for my Floppy Fish maneuver. That’s right.
I’ll flail, I may even scream. My
unpredictable thrashing will make me seem twice my weight. And we both know you’ll spend as much energy
trying to protect me from myself as you will on the task at hand.”
“Enough talk!” Mama
steps forward. “Maybe you didn’t smell
the kale, spinach and other Superfood on my breath. Yep, I’ve had my green juice this morning
which is not only shedding your baby weight, but arming me with enough
nutrition to be on my tip top game this morning. Pull out your pad and pencil, Sister. Mama’s ‘bout to show you how it’s done!”
Jordan sighs and pulls herself up to her feet. She steps with the right foot, then the
left. Leaning against the bars, she
looks like a tiny sumo wrestler. “Alright,
Mama. I see trying to reason with you is
a futile exercise. I’m ready. Let’s do this…”
Love,
T.
