A few grey hairs have sprouted on my head over the past few years. Rather than blame age, I like to credit my children for each one of them.
Grey Hair #1 – When my youngest daughter was 3, I sent her to her bedroom for some timeout. After 10 minutes I opened her bedroom door to discuss her behaviour and I caught her climbing out the window. Her bedroom is on the 2nd storey and her window drops to a concrete floor below.
I gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Escaping,” she said.
Talk about stating the obvious.
Grey Hair #2 – I stood up from the sofa one night after watching a TV episode of CSI, which involved a lot of shooting, blood and death. I found my then 4-year-old hiding beside the couch.
“What are you doing out of bed?” I asked, horrified.
“What did you see?” I said.
“A bang then lots of red stuff.”
Grey Hair #3 – My daughter showed symptoms of dengue fever and the doctor advised I take her to hospital for a blood test. My child took one look at the needle in the nurse’s hand and screamed, “Go Away.” Another nurse intervened and my daughter continued her verbal abuse. “I’ll kick you!” As the needle got closer she kicked, hit, and pinched one nurse so hard that the poor woman left the room with a welt on her arm. To top it off, my daughter then spat at a nurse. I was mortified and left the hospital apologising profusely as I imagined another grey hair pinging from my scalp.
Grey Hair # 4 – A couple of days after the traumatic blood test incident, my daughter woke up and said, “I HATE those nurses. I was about to say the F word to them.”
Need I say more? My grey hairs continue to sprout daily.