Praiseworthy

A few years ago I found a salon and a hair stylist that I really love. I love knowing that I'll get a great cut every time I go. I love seeing the familiar and welcoming face of my stylist. I love the refreshing adult conversations we have. I love walking out confidently with a fresh new look. But just a few days ago, I found one more reason to love it all...

It was Tuesday and I was so excited. It was the first time I have braved the whole salon experience alone with both kids in-tow. Usually my younger sister comes and we take turns getting our hair cut and tending my two girls. But this time she had to work, so I brought plenty of snacks, a handful of toys, and my youngest daughter's booster seat to strap her down.  Both Sophia and I were getting our hair done. Soph was going in for a new layered style--which, makes her look very sophisticated for a four year old--and I was going shorter and sassier than ever.

I was trying to be confident--the mom who can be stylish and take care of her kids with finesse under any circumstance, right? Well, everything went well while Sophia got her hair cut. Naomi was happy to sit on my lap and snack and play  and watch what was going on. But after I strapped her into her seat for my haircut, and the snacks and toys began to be scattered in a radius expanding out from my salon chair, I began to feel like I had turned this nice salon into what appeared more like a day-care facility. Anxious to be done and pick up our mess before anymore clients came in, Naomi began to fuss and cry.

Sophia tried to help, and I did what I could from my chair, but as soon as my stylist began blow drying and styling my hair, I let Naomi sit on my lap to try and soothe her cries and give my nerves some relief.

She was warm--too warm. And her crying began to include small phrases of "Owie. Owie, Mommy, Owie." This was not good. Not good at all.

Suddenly her cries grew silent, and then came the sound of a splatter. Before I could look down, I felt it--the warm, slimy reality of grape juice, fruit snacks and peanuts swimming in my daughter's vomit--smelly and unwelcome, but absolutely unstoppable and absolutely all over the two of us. We were all in a moment of shock before I started the mad dash to clean up as best I could and get out of there as fast as I could.

But I didn't have to rush. No body seemed grossed-out or upset. My stylist brought me towels and then took Sophia to play with the receptionist while she helped me gather my things. She wouldn't let me clean up the floor, but insisted that she would take care of it. And that is one more reason I love our salon and stylist. And I still love getting my hair cut there. I think if it were any other place or any other people, I may have never gone back from sheer embarrassment. But it's guaranteed--I will be a customer there for life!