Warning: This blog has nothing to do with weaving. If you don't like that, tough noogies. This is my blog and I'll put on it what I want.
I was getting ready for work this past week, brushing my waist-length hair in the bathroom, when I noticed Baby Girl was actually up before noon. (Bedtimes pretty much go bye-bye during the summer at my house.) She asked if she could braid my hair for me. She had to stand on the toilet so she could reach! It was really cute, and she did a pretty good job too.
Baby Girl is my youngest, my 10-year-old, the child I was pregnant with when my world fell apart and I found out what betrayal feels like. My last baby. She will probably be the last to leave the nest, and that day can take forever coming.
If she wants to send me to work with 20 pony tails in my hair, I will probably let her. Before I know it she will be too old, in her mind, to play with Momma's hair.