Nieve, post wrestling match, with her style for the day
When Nieve wakes up late on school days it's recently become part of my routine to put up her hair. It's a task that I dread - it's a tough job, Nieve hates it, and I'm specifically terrible at it. Her wispy strands of hair are almost impossible to corral - as soon as you have a few captured, as many if not more pop out of place somewhere else. I feel a greater sense of progress running uphill in sand than I do when trying to get Nieve's hair inline.
Thankfully being compared to a giraffe in our family is not an insult (yet)
Yesterday morning was no exception. Nieve's thick, long, wavy hair was particularly challenging to tame and the effort, with all of the pulling and brushing, brought no shortage of tears. When it was all over, Nieve's hair was at best half-done and she looks as if she was sitting on a Van de Graaff generator.
Ronan looked past all of the unruly strands forming a soft halo around Nieve's head and exclaimed, "Dad! Look! Nieve's a giraffe!"
Sigh. Ronan had a point - in my unsuccessful effort to simply gather her hair I forgot to pay attention to where I was arranging her pigtails. I felt bad for Nieve, but given her classmates cannot say, "giraffe" yet (at least not coherently), I didn't have the patience to make her resemble a less awkward animal.