Interesting things are discussed at our dinner table.

I often learn of events that I didn’t know had taken place during the day.

At supper the other night, Scout started to tell us something funny.  She said, “It was so funny that Baseball Friend. . . . . . . . . .”, and then she trailed off and looked up at me funny-like.  Suddenly I stopped ignoring the chatter and focused.  I said, “It was so funny that Baseball Friend did what?” 

Then she turned red.

(Does she have a crush on him I thought?)

Then she looked guilty.

(Did he do something bad?)

Then she looked down.

(Did SHE do something bad?) 

So I repeated the question sterner. Okay, “more sternly grammar people.”  “It was so funny that Baseball Friend did WHAT?”

She looked at me miserably and said, “I don’t want to say it.”

“Is it bad?”, I asked.

“I don’t know.”, she said, “I think so.”

 “Tell me.”  I demanded.

 “I don’t want to.”, she said looking worse.

“Is it mean?”, I asked.

“It may be.”  she said, about ready to cry.

Quite worried, I said, “Whisper it in my ear.”

She wouldn’t, so I had to demand that she tell me this bad, mean, hard-to-tell THING in my ear.

She said,

“Baseball Friend dyed his hair.”

And then promptly burst into sobs at having said something so bad, mean, and hard-to-tell.

Remember the Ramona the Brave book where after a very hard day in first grade Ramona declared at the supper table, “I’m going to say a REALLY bad word!”.  Remember that the entire family laughed when she yelled out, “GUTS!”  “GUTS, GUTS, GUTS.”

This was our “GUTS” moment.

Thankfully, we had just watched the Ramona  movie about 2 million times, so I didn’t laugh.

But I did jiggle.  I really jiggled.  Wait, I always jiggle–well, this wasn’t a jogging jiggle, it was a laughing jiggle.

When I thought I could talk without laughing and hurting sobbing Scout’s feelings, I said, “I don’t think it is bad to dye your hair, or mean or unkind to say that someone dyed their hair.”  “In fact, Mommi once dyed her hair yellow.”  Incredulity settled amongst those at table, and all the sobbing ceased.  (Admit it, that last sentence was the greatest. Let me run it by you again.  Incredulity settled amongst those at table, and all the sobbing ceased.)  This resulted in me having to show the kids their “dyed yellow-haired mom.

And Facebook Folk, you get to share in their mirth.

This is an old passport photo I had.  It bears a striking resemblance to my “I-just-gave-birth-photos.”  I look rather pale, washed out, and dazed–except with different hair color.  See below.

Now my friends, you can stop laughing also.

Tune in tomorrow for my “Blonde Story.”

rebecca