My ten year old just says whatever pops into her mind.

A couple days ago, in my lap, she put both hands by the part in my hair and bent my head down so she could get a closer look.
"Mommy," she nearly gasped, "do you dye your hair?"
"Yes I do."
"Do you dye your roots?" she asked with instructive ridicule.
I explained how dye jobs grow out, exposing undyed roots.
"Well, there's gray in there!" she pointed out with restrained alarm.

You should see my new hairdo. I told my beloved, tattooed, alpaca-farming hairdresser that I was bored of my hair. I'm certainly not now! I'm sure you'll catch a glimpse of it on Mark's blog next week.


Last month, my ten year old asked my ex-husband and my boyfriend if they were going to arm wrestle. No sense ignoring an elephant in the room.