My five-year-old cannot stand having her hair brushed. Abbey is normally a very happy and pleasant girl, but every single morning, there is whining and crying until the task is completed and the brush is once again bansished to the drawer. Every single morning. She pleads for me to "brush it soft, mommy" and every single morning I do my best to brush soft so as not to hurt her tender head. An impossible feat, really.
Our hairbrushing session this morning was particularly hideous for us both. As I was brushing, and she was crying, I noticed a large clump of something in her hair. It was silly putty. Silly putty...in her HAIR.
I'll spare you all the details, just know that it wasn't a whole lot of fun. There was much weeping and gnashing of teeth.
I'm not a fan of silly putty. Probably because it always ends up somewhere besides that little red egg it comes in. Like, say, the carpet, or our clothes (I've picked it out of both carpet and clothes this week), or my daughter's hair!
As of this morning, all silly putty has been removed from this house, never to cross our threshold again. Because I simply cannot endure another experience with that smooth, pink stuff.