In fact, I was moving so slowly and thinking without much clarity, I suddenly realized that it was 8:30 and I still had not heard from Heath. Just as I was on the verge of opening his door, he cracked it open himself. He stood before me, well-rested, eager to go see his friends at school, and with one of the most raging cases of bedhead I've ever seen in my life. It was beyond his usual back of the head bird's nest. It was as if he'd gone to bed with wet hair and spent much of night rubbing Puppy on the front of his head, creating a look that can only be described as Mr. Kotter (as in, Welcome Back) meets Jimi Hendrix.
I kept thinking I should tend to the mess of overprocessed perm curls/dreadlocks as everyone easily dressed themselves and munched on mini-pancakes. I even suggested that he take a look at what had happened overnight and wouldn't it be nice to brush it yourself before we head to school for our big first morning back. It was 8:45 and he was completely disinterested in grooming himself. Each time I walked by him I attempted to use my fingers as a makeshift comb, only to find my digits stuck in the mass of knots.
At 8:50, loading up the car, Heath finally caught a glimpse of his mangy mane in the wagon's rearview mirror. I held my breath and hoped he would have a moment of unprompted self-care pride. No. He simply grinned and clicked his seatbelt shut.
Oh, well, I decided. Things could be worse. He could've not brushed his teeth. Oh, wait...I asked him if he brushed his teeth. He stared out the window. I'll take that as no.
Well, we'll get on schedule by week's end. Before I know it we will be back on track and we'll have plenty of time for a useless power struggle over brushing his bedhead.
Bedhead always win.
After school. Five hours settling time only did so much.
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