PERMS

(I wrote this a long time ago, when "Susan" was "Suzi.")


One of the joys of motherhood is giving your daughter a perm. Last Sunday was rainy and dreary, and it seemed like a perfect day to give my daughter Suzi the perm she had asked for. Actually, she had asked for a professional perm, but she had to take what she got.
Having done this before, I knew I might lose my temper. Those curlers, hair, and papers cooperate about as well as a fish cooperates when you're trying to take him off the hook.

I wrapped a plastic garbage bag around Suzi's shoulders, clipped the front together with hair clips and tucked paper towels in at the neck. Suzi sat very still for all this, knowing I hate it, and counting her lucky stars I was doing it.

I parted her hair and tried to separate it into little squares like they do at the salon. But it didn't seem to be cut in squares. I tried re-staking the territories, but that didn't work either. So I just put a curler in every hair swatch that seemed to be a different length.

As time passed, Suzi's shoulders slumped more and more. I was almost crawling onto her shoulders to reach her head. She got bored and pretty soon I noticed that a lot of hair clips were missing. I found them decoratively lining the edges of her plastic cape. I looked at her face, and she had clips on her lips and nose.

We took a break - partly because we were both tired, and partly because the cape and towels were falling off. Night fell. My Sunday night TV shows drew nearer. My nerves became even more frayed. Then I caught a curled piece of hair in the comb. Suzi jumped in anticipation of pain, and I jumped because she jumped. We got the giggles, which turned to gales of laughter and tears. My husband looked in on us and decided everything was OK.

Later that night, Suzi styled her now wavy hair and I got to see my TV shows. But the smell of a home perm lingererd in the house as if to remind me: Mothers aren't expected to be joyful all of the time.