Ooh La La!

On Mother’s Day morning this year, I felt as if I had gone back in time about 20 years. You may know that feeling. Valerie asked if I could come over before church to put Brittain’s hair in a French braid.  It seems as though it was yesterday that I was the on-call hairdresser in my home, and can I just say how fun it was?  Then one day I just stood there and thought, “Wait. Where did those little girls go? They don’t need me? Not even to fix their hair?” 

I had never even heard of a French braid until I had two daughters taking dance lessons who needed their hair done for recitals.  A  French braid…..doesn’t that just sound graceful?  The ideas, words, wares, and foods that are associated with the French just seem to have an allure.

Even though I have no French ancestors (although my middle name is Cecile—a French name), and even though I don’t speak French, I love French braids, French twists, and French manicures.   If a magazine cover features a room decorated in French country, I will flip straight to it.  Mademoiselle magazine only ceased publication a few years ago, but it was a magazine with class and one of my favorites. We Americans serve hors d’ouevre to our guests, we talk about that eerie feeling of déjà vu, and we RSVP an invitation.   French pastries, French perfumes, and a toile design on anything all capture our attention. 

Mademoiselle, 1983 cover

For a French braid to “happen” to a 2-year-old’s hair, there must be orchestration. Taking that thought one step further, I believe it might be easier to write an opera score than to keep a 2-year-old still long enough to braid her hair.  It was a lively beginning for an already action-packed Mother’s Day.   Dan was there—and that was great because I knew he would help if summoned.   I’m actually surprised he understands the whole girly-girl hair thing since his idea of a bad hair day is nicking his scalp.

Brittain had no clothes on when she opened the door to let me in.  After streaking through the house several times, she finally allowed us to put some undies on her.  Valerie said, “Mimi is going to fix your hair.” “No.” “Brittain, don’t you want her to fix your hair like a princess?”  “No.”  “How ‘bout you watch Noggin channel and I’ll give you some little marshmallows while she fixes your hair?”  That worked, but I knew I needed to operate fast before the slight sugar high from the marshmallows kicked in.

Who can ever forget The Pompadour, France’s gift to America in the 1950’s and 60’s?  I believe it was their pièce de résistance.  Wouldn’t you agree?