Most every Saturday morning it’s the same scene: After a hard run with the chicas, I race in the door, sweaty, disoriented, hungry–sometimes just as Hubby is gathering up his keys–and I must immediately pull up Doodlebug’s hair into a tight ballet bun. The exactness and patience it requires is just too much for someone who hasn’t had her coffee or shower.

I wonder which is more likely…that Hubby could learn to do the hair, or that I could start running home faster?


  1. I am embarrassed to admit that I had this concern at one point after we found out Baby #2 was a girl: If she takes ballet or gymnastics, will I be able to style her hair into a tidy bun or a neat slicked back ponytail? I mean, I can’t even do my own hair! I’m starting to understand why my mom kept me in a Dorothy Hamill haircut for so long when I was younger.

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