Distraction Therapy Works

They were acting cranky. Aged six and four. Woken up from sleep in a bad mood. Close to tears as they approached the nursery cum kindergarten where they normally enjoy. Desperate for a change, I shot a quick prayer up to my Counselor and Guide.

"HAAAAAAALP!" I said inside of me.

Then I saw the older Arrow's mop of hair. He has thick, strong, black hair. Like his Dad. And like his Dad, when he gets up in the morning, it can be a little wild. Untamable at times. This day seemed like one of those days. So I dug into my handbag to look for my comb.

That handbag is a bottomless pit sometimes so it took me a while to find it.

Fishing around, I found it and brought it out with a flourish, saying triumphantly, "TAAAAADAAAA!"

I shall never forget the looks on my sons' faces that greeted my glee.

Shock. Incredulous. A "Mama's-gone-barmy" look.

Then as they burst out laughing, I realised why they had reacted the way they did. In my hand was a poor specimen of a comb - more than half its teeth were missing!

Needless to say, no one had their hair combed that day. But apart from a Mom who was red-faced for other reasons, the others were red-faced because they were in stitches.

Well, at least they went to school in a good mood.

I wonder how they told their friends. Worse, their teachers!