This afternoon I picked Jari up for lunch. As I waited, there he was jumping and playing amidst all the other kids. When his eyes met mine he ran towards me waiting outside the school gates. My hand clasped aroud his in an effort to protect him from the swarm of egotistic driving parents...and he looks up at me and says, loudly, within hearing distance of other parents: What did you to your hair? Did you get paint in it? It's all white.
I glanced around me, picking up the pace to head towards our home. "Mom, why is your hair so white?" he pried again. "Because that's what happens when you get old," I told him.
"Now you can be a gramma," he replied, running towards the basketball hoop to shoot a few of our typical lunchtime hoops. "But gramma's can't do this," I told him, popping the ball out of his hand and shooting a layup. Unfortunately the ball didn't go in.
I think it's time for me to dye my hair.