True Colors

I was sitting at my kitchen table last night sorting mail while dinner cooked. The girls were playing in the living room with Daddy when Molly wandered into the room and sat down next to me. "Mommy, I'd like a new color on my hair."

Pretending to take her very seriously, I put down my stack of birdcage liners and said, "What color would you like to change it to?"


"I'd like.... ummm.... some maybe darker.... ummmm.... maybe some like black.... ummmm.... what color should I put on my hair?"

I explained to her that her hair was a very pretty color, and that she should leave it just like it is. She instantly came back with, "But you put on color sometimes."

Ahh, youth. My sweet three year old believes that I "put on color" because it's fun. There was a time when it was fun to change up my hair once in a while. Now I do it to avoid looking too much like my mother. I told her what any reasonable (graying) adult would have - that I have icky hair and have no choice.


I thought she accepted that answer, because she dissapeared back toward the living room. Of course, she came back. "Mommy, I have icky hair too, now can I put color on it?"

I'm not sure where she got the yogurt from, but it had a new home in her soft blonde locks. I took a moment to curse myself for buying banana yogurt. If only it had been blueberry, or even strawberry, then her goal of changing her hair color would have been accomplished, easily repaired at bathtime. I wiped gobs of banana goo from her head and sent her back to play.


Yes, she came back, this time holding something behind her back. "Mommy, I'd like THIS color."

Clairol Nice'nEasy #111, Natural Medium Auburn. I don't know why I bought that dye. I don't like that brand, and that hasn't been my color in two years. I contemplated letting her do it, then realized what a bad idea that was. I could picture my husband's face if he came in from work one day to find his older daughter a fiery redhead. It would be ugly. That actually made me pause to reconsider, but I shook it off and took the box. "No hair color."


"Awwwwww MOM." She says this now with a dramatic sigh and an eye roll, much like a teenager. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's where she learned it. I've been jaded to the whiny ways of children, and it does not affect me. This was a battle won for me and I was pleased, even if I was more than a little disturbed to be having the hair color battle with a three year old. A battle won is a battle won.


The thing about triumphing in a conversation with a child is that they find a way to win in their own nonsensical way. Were Molly a teenager, I'm pretty sure she'd have gone ahead and dyed her hair against my wishes. It's what I would have done.


Being a kid, she found a new way to even the playfield. She gave Abigail a marker. When I went to call my family for dinner, I found Abby sitting on the couch in nothing but a diaper, decorated in blue marker.


I stood silently, glaring at my daughters and husband (who was completely oblivious to what was happening, merrily reading a 4WD magazine). Molly spoke first.


"Abby wanted a new color on her skin. I helped."

Thank you, Crayola, for washable markers.


The score is 1-1.