dancing hair

My two girls do dancing.  Ballet and tap for one, jazz and tap for the other.  Mostly it is good - drop them off with their stuff, pick them up later - hopefully with more grace, poise and co-ordination.  If the constant performances in my loungeroom are anything to go by, I think they are learning something.

But it is concert month.  And I have to transform this hair

into this hair

It is not a task for the faint hearted.

But I do it.  My mum did it for me.  There was one particularly embarassing day when I was in grade three and I had a ballet concert that night, and I had to go to school with curlers in my hair and wear mum's scarf over the top of them.  And that was the day we met our pen pals from another school.  My pen pal took one look at his weirdly scarfed pen pal, and took off.  I don't blame him. He never wrote again.

Anyway, I do my girl's hair.  And probably say exactly the same phrases my mum used on me.  'You'll be right.' 'Pain is temporary'. 'Sit still and stop wriggling'.  'I've shaving it off' - actually only I probably just say that last one.

Concert practice week this week.  I need to be ready to mop up the meltdowns of the artistes!