How did that old nursery rhyme go? I’ll be honest. I couldn’t remember past “right in the middle of her forehead.” I had to Google it. Turns out, it’s a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow! Ha! Who knew? Here’s the rest:
“There was a little girl,
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good,
She was very good indeed,
But when she was bad she was horrid.”
And Mr. Longfellow lived from 1807-1882! How could he have predicted “Molly?”
There’s more, but nothing quite so ingrained upon the memories of most of us (especially us mothers of curly-headed little girls) as that first stanza.
And in our case, the family’s even come to name it. The Lead Curl. It occupies a slightly more prominent frontal-scalp area than Curl Number Two, but is impressively larger than Curl Three. Ironically, the Curls neither accurately predict nor correctly reflect Molly’s moods. In fact, quite the opposite. When Molly has finally succumbed to the evil institution known as “taking a bath,” the curls come out all nice and smooth and bouncy and incredibly ringlet-y and spirally in a perfect shade of brand-new-shiny-penny-copper.
Then she is good.
But when it’s been (cough–a few days) some time since her last shampoo, the curls become less curl-like and more, well, erratic, animalistic frizz? This is the Molly whose heavy, scowling eyebrows, stomping feet and clenched jaw has worn down Momma to the point where cleanliness is relevant, right? I mean, she got most of the chocolate out of her ear and the mud between her toes, I mean, seriously. How harmful can a little mud be?
Moms of Mollies out there (you know who you are) does curl quality correlate with behavior? Please share.