Mums the Word - On Hair Growth

A mother's perspective

By Hope Forrest

With Christmas just around the corner, I am anticipating the wish list from my two young girls. Studying the chaos on Ash's bedroom floor, I wonder what they are hoping to add to their toy infested rooms. The same carpet that I agonized for months over choosing, (after all it would be so prevalent in the appearance of my "perfect" home) has been camouflaged since the third day we moved in. It's been shrouded by little plastic people, living in little houses, with their little cars and little pets. And now, somewhere at the North Pole, there is a small-minded elf designing more tiny toys with tons of accessories. If only he could make them small enough so not to be seen or large enough that they wouldn't get sucked up my vacuum hose.

ŒRain and Ash know that mom is ruthless when it comes to vacuuming - toys that successfully make it into the dust bin are doomed for the dumpster. Did you know that Barbie shoes make a very distinct sound as they fly around in the cyclonic action of a super-sucker? That's why our monthly vacuuming day is celebrated with special count down announcements which warn them at timed intervals. "The vacuum is coming in fifteen minutes, ten . . . five . . . three . . ." That's when the pleas usually start.

"No, Mommy, no Mommy, not yet, not yet!!!" They dash around madly trying to scoop up as many trinkets as they can. Ash runs to save her pound puppies while 'Rain runs interference. "Hurry Ash. I can't hold her off much longer!"

I head for the linen closet and start to dig around the floor trying to find all the hose attachments - half of which I have no idea what they're used for. Starting in the living room and working my way toward the screams at the end of the hallway, I push open the door to 'Rain's room. She is crawling around on all fours.

"The vacuum is here. It's too late to save them!" I yell over the drum of the five horsepower motor. "Thwack, slurp, shhhhloook . . . "

Now on to Ash's dump. She squeals and jumps onto her bed, Molly the Dolly clutched close to her chest. I stoop to pick up a beloved gold bead that is cherished beyond words. Too late for the sandy coloured pooch though. "Shwooop" down it goes into the dust bin.

Finishing my chore, I take the full cylinder to the garbage can. ŒRain and Ash look on mournfully while the contents are slowly dumped. As I halfheartedly went about my bimonthly dusting, I could hear them quietly paying their last respects out on the deck next to the trash bin. Walking toward their rooms, dust cloth in hand, I thought I heard the faint sound of taps . . .

Comments? Hope would love to hear from you! E-mail: hope@hopeforrest.com