Sometimes we forget the insidious power of little things.
It was a Sunday. I was having one of those rare days?only written about in parenting fairy tales?where all things just fall into place. I slept in until 7:30, I negotiated away the iPad after only 30 minutes and we were dressed?we even smelled fantastic. On our morning walk to pick up fruit and return our library books, I also managed to convince my seven-year-old-son to get a much needed trim. I felt pretty self-satisfied: I had managed to get my kid?s hair cut and the boy looked amazing. He couldn?t stop scratching or complaining about being itchy?but I could see his eyes again!

I felt invincible. We had an easy dinner and ate happily as I read aloud about Greek mythology, which he gobbled up with his noodles and kale. (Yes, I said kale?I was that awesome of a mom.) Then, to tempt the fate of Poseidon, I said, ?Let?s wash that hair so you won?t be itchy.? To my surprise, he agreed. After playing in the bath and laughing, bonding and being an ad for a mom who enjoys dark, leafy greens with her clean-cut son, I started to blow-dry his hair. (Don?t ask me why; I never do this. Well, actually, I don?t wash his hair that much either. I?d say it?s a philosophy, but I?d be lying.) We were in our cozy pyjamas with our teeth brushed, ahead of schedule. I was feeling pretty great about myself, until I saw something on his scalp. Of course, it had to be lint from his socks in his hair, right" The...