This morning Taylor asked me to do her hair. This doesn’t usually happen unless she wants it curled, but she has a jammed finger. I agreed with hesitation, knowing she probably wasn’t going to be satisfied with the outcome. At 8, she is already very in tune with her own sense of style.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked her, hoping her request would be simple.
“I don’t know. It’s too fuzzy on the sides,” she pointed out. “We need to find a way to hide that, but I like how it’s wavy on the bottom.”
I agreed. She did have pretty waves from sleeping with a single braid down the back the night before, but the hair near both temples was out of control. “How about two small braids on each side to cover up the messy parts?” I suggested.
At first she wasn’t keen on the idea. When I volunteered to re-do it if she didn’t like it, she reluctantly agreed. I knew there was a high probability of failure on my part, but we had a little extra time this morning and I saw it as a challenge.
She judged me as she watched me work, “Momma…I don’t know where you’re going with this, but it’s not good!”
“Hey, missy!” I shot back. “Back off, would ya? Your momma’s got all the tricks!” This made us both giggle.
After the second small braid was in place, I dropped my hands from her hair. “See? Look how pretty that looks!” I spoke the truth. She looked precious.
“Momma!” she groaned. “Are you kidding me?”
“NO! You look really pretty, Tay!” I campaigned.
“Momma.” She took a deep breath after making a declaration of my name. “It does look pretty, but this is Sydney’s style! You know my style is not like Sydney’s.” Her tone was full of condescension. “We’re gonna have to pull these braids back, or something!”
Just then, Sydney entered my bathroom with wet, tostled hair because she prefers to shower in the morning, unlike her twin sister. “Oh wow, Taylor! Your hair looks really pretty today!”
Taylor cocked her head to one side and glared at me through the mirror. “See, Momma?! Now let’s fix this,” she demanded.
I burst out laughing. There was no use arguing. The only thing worse than twins that disagree, are twins that agree. It’s an unstoppable force of nature that can not be reckoned with. “Fine,” I agreed.
I pulled both braids back to the center of her head and secured them with one black rubber band. “Give me another black pony, T,” I directed.
“Why?” she asked skeptically.
“Because, it’s not nearly edgy enough yet for your style,” I mocked her.
“What are you gonna do?” she asked, as she handed me the second rubber band.
“I’m gonna give you some flair,” I told her. I yanked out both bottom halves of the braids under the rubber band I had just put in.
“Momma! What are you doing?!” she panicked.
“Trust me,” I told her with confidence. I placed the second rubber band three inches down from the first so it made a gap of puffy blond hair. Then I spread both black rubber bands out across the blank spot, creating a messy wrapped look. I always love this look on other people, but can never pull it off myself. I knew T would rock it.
“There ya go. Now get outta’ here,” I pushed her from the stool.
“You don’t even know if I like it!” she countered.
Before I had to say anything, Sydney chimed in. “Oh, you’ll like it. Trust me, Taylor. It looks just like your style.”
Tay stood up to inspect it with a mirror. “Ooooooh, Momma! I like it!” she smiled.
“Of course you do! I did it!” I teased.
She threw her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. I winked at her and then volunteered to blow dry Sydney’s hair. After it was dry and soft and fluffy, Sydney reached into the drawer and grabbed a conservative navy satin headband, adorned with a petite bow on top. When she put it on, she looked precious. Just like her rocker “identical” twin sister.