a quarter teaspoon

You and I might bump into each other today. And you might say, wow Em, your hair looks great. And (sniff sniff) is that a new perfume?

Well, it's not that I've happened on the latest styling product or a nice new fragrance for spring. It's sudafed. See, Handsome Jr. has the snots, and he hates taking medicine. Even the pleasant-tasting and aromatic sudafed. We've switched back to the baby syringe to give him medicine. Handsome Sr. gave him some cough medicine in his sleep last night, and he took it fine. Not so this morning. He fussed, but I had gotten all but the last quarter teaspoon in him, and I was feeling gutsy. Decided to power-squirt the last bit in his mouth when he opened it to protest.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. I clearly saw the palette of his tongue. Then, like something out of a 3D movie, I saw the purple fluid flying back at me, into my hair and all over the pillows in my bed. Can't believe how much that little quarter teaspoon splatted everywhere.

I know you are thinking, "Why doesn't she just wash her hair?" No way. Not today. I washed it yesterday. So today I'm due my alternating good hair day. (That's how my hair rolls. Wash it one day, it's cute the next. Lather and repeat.)

I slept better last night knowing that I was going to have a good hair day today. I woke up joyful as I greeted the morning today, knowing that I would have to shave my legs, but as for the hair, I was set. No problems today. It's your good hair day. Oh well. Guess I will settle for the next best thing. A grape hair day.