Sarah Nigbor

Something happens to a child when they turn into a teenager. I don’t know if it’s the hormones or going through puberty or what, but they turn into a bathroom hog. They are also often obsessed with their hair, how they look or both. And it’s not just girls. I should know: Though one teen boy is gone to college, I have two more at home plus a teen girl. And people wonder why I’m sprouting gray hair.

Our middle son, who is 16, became obsessed with his hair overnight. He has to have it cut by his friend’s mother in her home salon; he refuses to go anywhere else. His older brother dubbed his style “The Floof.” It consists of very short sides and back, with a feathery, fluffy mess of blonde hair on top that has to be carefully arranged just so, to fall over the forehead at the perfect angle. I’m not sure if the goal is for it to look lightly tousled, a drooping mess or perfectly coiffed. I can tell you that he spends a ridiculous amount of time checking it in mirrors and on his phone, adjusting the hair repeatedly, running his fingers through it, until it is what he deems perfect. He also sends his friends pictures of his hair constantly, which I think is hilarious.

While on vacation, our oldest took video of this phenomenon and sent it to our family group chat. I’m not sure when I’ve laughed harder or longer. I had tears streaming down my face. Now I know it might be mean to laugh at your own kid, but good grief. I’m surprised he has any hair left considering how many times he combs it or plays with it. Now that Ethan is off to college, I miss his sideways remarks about “The Floof” or his brother “floofing” his hair. My husband says he should spend less time on his hair and more time watching football film.

Our youngest boy is 14 and could care less about his hair; however, he loves to take showers with his music blasting so he can sing in the shower. He’s also a fan of singing when he’s on the toilet. There’s nothing quite like hearing your son beller showtunes while he’s on the pot. Whatever helps him go, I guess. Hubby teases him that he’ll enroll him in the school musical (which he should do, but doesn’t), but I guess he’s content to share his talents in the bathroom. Considering we only have 1.5 bathrooms for six people, it would be nice if he would sing on a stage instead.

And my daughter, the minute she turned 13 she became a completely new creature. She now takes 1.5 hours to get ready each day and I’m not entirely sure what the whole routine encompasses. I know she has more makeup and skin care products than I do. I also know that items from my makeup bag keep disappearing, only to turn up on a certain girl’s dresser. I’ve also learned to not interrupt the “routine” for fear of losing my head and that if she runs out of dry shampoo, I should go hide somewhere far away.

All this primping and preening makes for so much fun in trying to arrange bathroom/shower times for everyone, so we can all get ready to leave for work/school on time. It’s a carefully orchestrated battle plan every day that requires me to be at the top of my game, fully caffeinated, in drill sergeant mode, barking orders and keeping the schedule moving smoothly. By the time everyone goes out the door looking fresh as a daisy, ready to conquer the day, I feel like a bedraggled shrew who has waged a war and looks worse for the wear. I need a nap before it’s even 8 a.m.