Angus's hockey team has been in playoffs for a few weeks. Three weeks ago his good friend Noah showed up with a red stripe down the middle of his head -- 'playoff hair'.
My husband soundly mocked the mother, whose younger son was similarly flamboyantly coiffed. On the way home, Angus asked if he could dye his hair too. My husband said "How can I put this nicely? NO."
My husband and I have a general policy of trying not to undermine each other with the kids, even if we're in disagreement. I don't remember articulating it to myself, but I'm pretty sure I thought that if Angus tried to do an end-run and asked me if he could dye his hair I would say no.
You may recall that my husband then decamped for California -- a week-long trade show where he shows off testing equipment and switches and wavelength division multiplexing (yes, I TOTALLY know what all of this means and I'm TOTALLY using it correctly), and at night gets wined and dined by various customers and salespeople. In California. You may further recall that we had a blizzard that week, followed by freezing rain and then plain old soul-sucking basement-flooding un-frozen rain. Two solid days of it. Here -- not in California. So when Angus asked me if he could get playoff hair, I thought for a moment, then said...
"Sure. It'll be a nice surprise for your father."
Right now? As a mother, I could not rock any harder. As a wife? Maybe not so much.