Mother gets her hair washed

Monday 13 October 2008

We are off school for Columbus Day, a holiday we did not celebrate in England (duh). I awoke somewhat early and offered to make waffles for everyone, seating J.J. in his chair and setting the table for all of us and even putting on Mother's apron over my sleep shorts and long-sleeved coverup shirt. Afterwards we all sort of split up-- Mother had phone calls to make, so did Daddy, Jessy has homework to do (which really means FaceBook to edit) and the little ones and I cleaned up the kitchen and played rag dolls in J.J.'s room till he got tired and went in for his morning nap.

Afterwards I had a nice warm shower-- thanks to the solar-boosted hot-water system! -- and sat in the middle of my bed reading in 'Evelina' and listening to classical music-- Rameau, the French Baroque, the kind of thing Mother and Daddy like because of its blend of intense logic and delicate beauty, though I chose it mainly because it's the kind of thing Fanny Burney, a.k.a. Madame D'Arblay, might have heard while writing this book, her father being such a musical historian and her husband being so French and all.

At the minuet I closed my eyes and just sat there and listened. It's so elegantly simple, and yet a very complex step, six in eight, and eight in thirty-two, going round the room in your imagination (and in the actual ballroom, since I have actually danced it a few times myself) and back to the top, perfectly logical and fun at the same time. Then, no sooner than it was over, little Lisa, like me not quite dressed either, appeared in my dressing-alcove door and said, 'Mother won't come out of her room.'

I turned and looked at her. 'What?'

'Her door is locked. And Daddy's in there too.'

'How do you know he is?'

She shrugged, twirling on her heels like she does. At least she was dressed-- I had on nothing but the sheets. 'Well,' she said, as though not wanting to say anything, 'I heard their voices through the door.'

I confess I looked at the clock-- that was probably unfair and impolite of me, you know. But I was already blushing a little. (Why?) 'Oh,' I said. 'Well, maybe... she's having... a nice morning bath.'

Lisa stopped at the side of the bed and toyed with the edge of a sheet. 'Oh,' she said, thinking. 'You said boys and girls aren't supposed to have baths together.'

I shrugged too, making sure she saw me do it. 'I'm sure he's not in there with her! Just washing her hair.' We both laughed a little. 'Mother does like that. Besides, it's much different when they're married.'

'Oh,' she said, recognising that this was one of those things she wouldn't understand because she is five.

The one thing I had recognised is that, though my room connects through a wardrobe to my parents' dressing room, there is enough masonry in the thick wall between my suite and theirs that.... I won't finish that.

'What are you doing?' Lisa asked me.

She leaned up to see into the book. I showed her-- all words of course. 'Fanny Burney,' I said.

'Oh. Why do they call her "Fanny"?'

'Well, her name is Frances, but in her time "Fanny" was a cute nickname for "Frances".'

'Do I have a nickname?'

'"Loquacious Lisa",' I said, and then leaned over and kissed her head. Then I thought of something. 'Where's J.J.?"

'Having his nap,' she said. 'It's his morning nap time. And Jessy is in her bed too. No one wants to DO anything.'

I looked again. 'Hmmm,' I said. 'And it's almost eleven.... We should be getting ready for tea. Do you want to help me?'

She nodded eagerly, so I closed the book on my feather bookmark and got out of the bed.

I was dressed (mostly) and down in the kitchen boiling for tea when Daddy came in and seated little J.J., changed and cheerful, in his chair. Mother came down the front stairs, practically skipping as I heard, and bounced in to the kitchen from the other end, happy as a little girl and cute in snug jeans and a black t-shirt, with her thick curly blonde hair still slightly damp from-- you guessed it-- washing it. Lisa smiled up at her, coming back from carrying in the platter of raisin muffins. 'Hi. Did Daddy do a good job?'

Mother looked round with a face like you can't imagine-- somewhere between pleasant surprise and sheer fright. 'Did he what?'

'Washing your hair,' Lisa said simply, stamping one foot as though there could have been no other idea.

'Oh,' said Mother, and glanced over at me behind the kitchen counter, while I nodded in an exaggerated 'you'd better understand me!' way. Fortunately she got it. 'Oh, yes, well, mothers sometimes like to have someone wash their hair... the way they do for girls like you.' And she leaned over and kissed Lisa's head, and while Lisa smiled happily that her guess had been right, Mother met eyes with me in spite of her deep red blush.

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