I smooth down the back of Joy’s hair where it has gotten rumpled during her nap. It’s a tangled nest as usual. It’s a dreadlock in progress.
“Joy, can Dad brush your hair?” I say.
“Aaaaarrh!” Joy cries. That means: hell no.
Joy hates to have her hair combed, brushed, styled, stroked, or untangled. We have mild shampoos, good conditioners, many hair care products, soft brushes, ponytail bands, bobby pins, etc. But much of the time the back of her head looks like that of a nomad.
Deb is better at taming Joy’s hair. But it is still a challenge.
“Deb, please help me with Joy’s hair!” I say. “The weather is so nice today. I want to take Joy for a bike ride to the park. If we put her in the high chair, I can do her orthotics and shoes and you can put in a ponytail.”
After breakfast, Joy had hopped down from the kitchen chair, bolted to the kitchen gate, crossed her arms, and stood there with that look: Dad I want to go to the park. But it was too cold at 9 am. So I said no. But now, 1 pm, the temps are much better. We can even go without jackets.
“Let’s go to the bike!” I say.
Joy races to the door and down the steps.
I strap her in, and within minutes we are at the park, running through the leaves to the slides and swings.
Joy is more confident on the steps and ladders. She laughs about every 30 seconds. There are so many leaves to stomp on. How will she get to them all?
Joy Elizabeth 