Get knotted

Four and a half precious hours on my recent trip to Fiji were spent at a backpackers’ hostel getting my kids’ hair braided ($30 per child, compared to $90 per child at the nearby resort spa). Tonight I spent another two long hours unbraiding them again. If they didn’t look so damn cute with their resulting ’70s disco ‘fros I might have screamed. Instead, I reached for a soothing glass of wine and my camera. Click, click, click! One of the upsides of leaving the Sprogs’ hair braided for three weeks – Sprog 1 insisted the braids stay in during her interminable illness so she could show them off at school when she recovered – was that I didn’t have to do any hair brushing or washing for the whole time. I nursed a certain trepidation about how skanky the hair would look once it was released, but it appeared quite glossy and healthy. So I might avoid the washing thing for a bit longer … seems a pity not to let them show of their kinky locks at school on Monday. Besides, washing children’s hair drives me crazy, especially when it comes to The Drama Queen (aka Sprog 2). The Drama Queen regards hair washing as a cruel form of torture and tends to wail and carry on until you feel like you’re being tortured too. I am oddly tired after removing 80 little, tiny rubber bands and unravelling 80 little, tiny braids. On the other hand, maybe it’s the three glasses of wine I had afterwards to ease the resulting back & joint pain. Am. Getting. So. Old. The rest of my day was spent trawling the internet for temporary fencing to stop the chooks decimating the garden. They seem particular fond of … well … anything green. So there’s not much left outside except lots of chook poo (nice between the toes) and large piles of woodchips on all the paths, where they’ve tossed them while digging up all the garden beds their cute little claws. Husband keeps making smart remarks about how we are enjoying the most expensive eggs on the planet from the chooks who must have the best of everything. But cheap eggs weren’t really the point of the exercise. Every time I step out onto the back deck, four pairs of scaly feet come pitter-pattering up to me. I like to think it’s because they love me, but it’s probably because they’re hoping I have some food. Ah well, it’s nice to be needed.
TONIGHT’S MENU: Curry leftovers (adults and Sprog 1). Mashed potato (Sprog 2 – pus-laced tonsils on the mend, but can’t be bothered insisting on more food groups after 2 hours of unbraiding). Sprog 1’s verdict: yum. Sprog 2’s verdict – I feel sick, can I have some ice-cream now?

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