Long beautiful hair Shining, gleaming, Streaming, flaxen, waxen Give me down to there hair Shoulder length or longer - Lyrics to Hair OmegaDotter has "down to there hair". It's long, beautiful hair. Shining, gleaming, streaming, silken, soft. It is a Pain In The Ass. Oh, not for OmegaDotter! No, no! It's a PITA for OmegaMom. Y'see, OmegaMom has just a very few things she's a stickler about, and one of those is OmegaDotter's hair. If she's going to wear it long, she's going to by gosh and by gory have combed hair. So we have this Daily Drama. OD gets dressed (with help from mommy). OD gets her shoes and socks on (with help from mommy). Then comes...The Hair. You would think OmegaMom was murdering her dotter, what with the wails and screams and drama. This is especially true if OmegaDad has (God forbid) forgotten to use conditioner when washing the dotter's hair. We have twisting, we have turning, we have a head yanked away while the comb is in mid-tangle, eliciting yet more screeches. This can escalate into A Scene, alas. This morning, it did escalate. Weapons of mass tantrumming were deployed. OmegaMom sought to escape the drama by going into the parental bedroom and closing the door. The Drama Queen followed. OmegaMom sought escape in the bathroom (closing the door). The Drama Queen followed. OmegaMom, at the end of her rope, picked the dotter up, plopped her onto her bed, grabbed the timer and set it for 5 minutes. More drama. We have discussed the concept of choices. "OmegaDotter, you have a choice, you know. If you want long hair, it must be combed; otherwise it will get all tangled and matted up and look like the matted hair on Dawg's butt. Do you want that?" A misery-ridden dotter, cuddled onto her mommy's lap with a comforting thumb popped in her mouth, shakes her head against mommy's shoulder. "Well, your other choice is to have short hair. It wouldn't get as tangled, and we wouldn't have this scene. Do you like this scene?" "Nooooo!" the dotter wails at the thought of her hair being cut. And another mute shake of the head against mommy's shoulder. This morning's drama lasted 45 minutes. Yes. Forty-five minutes. Argggghhhh! The other threat, of course, is to have OmegaDad do the daily hair combing. This is, if possible, worse. "But Daddy doesn't dooooo it riiiiight!" Picture OmegaMom rolling her eyes. OmegaMom, when ranting at co-workers about it today, was assured that the same thing happened with others' daughters. The lone male, slouching in a chair and listening in with a bemused expression, trumpeted his self-proclaimed hard-assedness, and claimed that he wouldn't be caught in this dilemma. Nope, nosirree! He'd cut it (the drama, not the hair) off at 5 minutes, none of this wishy-washy stuff, kiddo would get spanked and that would be that. (He is a very handsome, charming bachelor, currently working his way through all the nubile young ladies available in town.) Hah. We women laughed in his face. We informed him that the worst offenders were the dads, who turn into mush as soon as they are presented with a little girl baby, and who cave at the merest hint of tears. We looked at each other and lifted eyebrows, as if to say, "Just you wait, buddy!" One of OmegaMom's co-workers said that one memorable morning she threatened her daughter with shaving it all off, and actually got as far as getting out the hair clippers she used to buzz-cut her husband's hair. This is, in OmegaMom's opinion, somewhat drastic...but, oh, the urge is there! Anyway, OmegaMom is seriously contemplating the hair salon this evening.