Maria hates to have her hair brushed.  She hates to brush it herself and she detests anyone else brushing it.  She is not at all vain when it comes to her hair.  I have tried to change her mind about brushing her hair by telling her that her hair is a tangled mess and everyone else comes to school with hair at least brushed, if not in a braid or head band or barrettes. 

 But nothing phases her – she could care less. 

Little Maria toes getting painted

However, my girl loves pedicures.  The lack of vanity in her hair translates down to her feet.  Whenever she is line for a treat for doing something good, she always asks for a pedicure.  And me giving her one does not cut it.  She must go to the salon and be completely and utterly pampered.  I think I forever damaged her when I took her to get one  at age 4.  We went with my mom and grandma in Cincinnati.  After that experience, it was over for her.  She was an addict.  When we went for one this week, she finally experienced the pleasure of the leg massage.  She’d always look at me like I was crazy when I sighed and moaned while getting the massage part of the pedicure but this time around, it was Maria doing the moaning.  Her beautician had the touch and melted Maria with her touch.  It was hilarious.

Maria seems to exhibit the dichotomy in caring less about her hair but obsessing about pedicures in other ares of her life, too.  One minute, she can be the most exuberant, spirited, vivacious little girl running around the house in pure slapstick and the next minute she can be the most melancholy, introverted, reclusive soul.  I do appreciate that quirky personality in her; I love how she puts her whole self in her emotions – whether happy or sad.  A sign of living life to the fullest, I think.   

Our exuberant Maria

The other day, we got in a fight because she “gave me lip” and then shoved me away when I tried to talk to her.  I got angry and said some mean words, too.  She bawled her eyes out.  When I apologized for being mean, she cried even harder and professed her love for me.  Later that day, I picked her up from school (still feeling guilty) and we were walking to the car.  She had on her good shoes and she looked at me with a big smile and stated “I am going to walk in the mud, mom.”  I told her she better not. 

Without hesitation, she laughed and skipped along the edge of the sidewalk and mud and retorted “We don’t want another fight like this morning, do we, mom?!” while she winked her eye at me.