I was getting ready for church this morning and for once, we were ahead of schedule. So I decided to put on a little makeup. This makes twice in one week — a record for me. I was leaning over the sink vanity mere inches from the tiny mirror in our only bathroom when my 8-year-old rushes in.
“I’ve got to comb my hair,” he says and squeezes in beside me at the mirror.
I wonder at this unusual concern about his appearance and hear him grumbling “Oh no, not again.”
I quietly darken and hopefully beautify my light-haired, practically invisible eyebrows.
“Oh no, not again,” he repeats, his tone deathly serious.
Just as I’m about to ask if he’s having problems getting his hair to lay down, he drops the comb on the counter and turns to leave, muttering on his way through the door, “Mom is acting strangely again.”