The Summer of Bad Hair (and Other Dastardly Deeds)

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was the summer of 2010 and far on the other side of the Delaware River in the Kingdom of Jersey (Phyllum: Crazy) lay a sleepy little cottage.

You know the one. There is one in your neighborhood. The one where you tell your children not to go. Because the kids look feral. Dirty. Wild.

Yep, that's my house. I never wanted to be THAT house. As a toddler, my son was always well-dressed and coordinated with cute little hats. He rarely got very dirty. I used to see little girls with pretty dresses and bows in their hair and dream of having one of my own someday to compliment my beautiful, well-dressed little boy.

I got a girl. But she doesn't like to wear hats, or barrettes, or pony tails. She doesn't like anything in her hair and her hair is quite wild without restraint of some kind. She loves dresses, but she shows them no mercy. She rolls in the dirt while wearing them.


I digress.

Back to my story:

The sleepy little cottage appeared serene and tidy. But looks were deceiving. One day, a neighborhood child knocked on the door of this seemingly-innocent home. The door was answered by a somewhat well-mannered little boy and the two children exchanged greetings and plans to play outside. Parental permission was granted and the two proceeded outside to withdraw the cease fire on the Nerf wars issued the previous day due to overbearing mothers and their insistence that the troops shower and go to bed.

While standing in the front yard, discussing the day's strategy, a naked, unkempt figure appeared in the full-glass storm door. The figure- presumably a little girl- had only minutes before been dressed fully in a charming little sundress she insisted on with hair put up in a neat and tidy pony tail with matching hair elastic. What stood before the door now, was a completely naked, diaper-less, pony tail-less unkempt wild animal with her tongue sticking out, thrashing her head around with red hair flying wildly about, giggling maniacally and dancing, PURPOSELY naked in front of the door. The mother heard the little boy scream, her son say, " Oh my God. That's my sister. She doesn't like to wear any clothes." apologetically, and then her father yell, "GO PUT SOME CLOTHES ON!"

The feral child changed clothes (and disrobed) no less than twelve times throughout the day. She spent her day sabotaging the Nerf wars, breaking the toys, hitting, biting, spitting, screaming, and yes, dancing naked for the troops. She also spent a good part of the day in time-out. By the end of that day, her mother was greeted by a child, dirty from head to foot, with wild, stringy hair hanging in her face but clumped together by some unknown sticky substance, wearing a shirt, but no pants and her shoes lost long ago. For a minute, she thought perhaps she had located, by giving birth to, the elusive legendary Jersey Devil; but then, It giggled at her with the toothiest grin, and she sighed, smiled and leaned down to kiss the dirty, clumpy little head.


Because everyone has a mother that thinks they are beautiful.

Even the Jersey Devil.