“You’re lucky you got my hair, it’s gorgeous,” I say while I am curling her hair before school. The last six months is the first time in her life she has allowed me any access at all to her hair, because she wants more intricate styles than she can do for herself.
“Yeah, well I got Dad’s teeth,” Ainsley said.
“They’re straight and you won’t need braces,” I said.
“You also got my eyes, which are really beautiful,” I continued.
“Quit bragging about yourself,” she chastised.
“Hey, I’m bragging about you. You’ll notice as you get older that girls will criticize themselves to death, “Oh, I hate my teeth, I hate my hair, I hate my . . . whatever. Until they really hate themselves”
“Demi Lovato hates herself,” she interrupts. “She hates her show and she hates herself and she got fat and all the kids at school made fun of her, so she started throwing up and she hates herself now.”
“How do you know all this?” I asked.
“All the kids at school saw it on the Internet,” she explained.
“Well, now you see why it’s important to look in the mirror and see what’s good – like your hair and your eyes – instead of listening to what the other kids say or focusing on what you think might be bad,” I say.
“Yeah,” she concedes. “My hair is beautiful.”
“I think those kids have way to much access to the Internet,” I say.
I stand back to look at my hair masterpiece.
“Why’s it all messy!?!” she demands.
Then we have an argument about her talking to me like I’m “the help” instead of her mother doing her a favor.