Warning: The following blog entry contains much talk of puke, though not super graphically. Those of you who this might bother don't actually read my blog, last I checked, but in case you've been sneaking since you know I can't grep through the access logs to tell, you've been warned. So there.So, starting way back on... Tuesday? 2am-ish? Zara's
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Miss F has gone through two periods of hair + water = dogs screaming in a three mile radius... During the first period, we worked together to wash her hair. I was the chair and Christine (no idea if you have a code name for her) was the stylist. Miss F suddenly wanted her hair cleaned regularly... This passed, as all good things do and the howling dogs returned. Christine has recently turned herself into both chair and stylist and so long as the water never gets closer than miss F's eye brows, all is good with the world.
Sorry to hear about the family plague, it was nice though that... as with everything... you taught her about sharing. :-)
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M's little boy G hated having his hair washed circa z's age but we found out it was an ears being phobia more than hair. much like puppies. maybe little boys are made with puppy dog tails. does this mean z needs a candy bribe? i know not; i am not a puke cleaning mommy machine.
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