Wiggles

Most people hate Mondays. Me, I hate Sundays. Once Monday has come, there's nothing you can do about it. It's there. You might as well start your week. But Sundays come with a dread known to no other day of the week. On Sunday, even though it's still the weekend, you know Monday's coming, and the last day of your short-lived freedom is ruined because of it.

"Pull it out!" I encouraged her.This past Sunday, however, was not like the rest. A friend of mine had an event to attend on Sunday, and I asked her if I could do her hair beforehand. "Doing" her hair somehow turned into not only styling but also cutting. I am not a hair stylist. The last time I cut someone's hair, my mom asked me to take an inch or two off of my sister's long locks. Before I knew it, she had a short bob. Oops.

Why this friend allowed me, without hesitation, to take a sharp object to her head, I will never know. But she did. I trimmed the bottom, I gave her layers, and I even cut bangs. And you know what? It turned out amazing. I have to say, I turned my friend into a knockout. Who knew?

This friend happens to live in an apartment above our rabbi's house, where he lives with his wife and twelve kids. No, that's not an exaggeration. Their oldest is twenty-three, and their youngest is three, two years older than their first grandchild. During the hair transformation that was taking place upstairs, we were visited by a few of the little girls who live downstairs. They watched and were mesmerized as I straightened and chopped.

One of the girls, Shaina Bracha (let's call her SB), was quite taken with the straightener. Even after my friend had left for her event, SB stayed behind with me to play with the straightener for a good hour while the rest of her family was eating a homemade breakfast downstairs.

While she plugged and unplugged the straightener...over and over...as it got too hot and then not hot enough, she'd occasionally stick her hand in her mouth. (She's eight. She's allowed.) I didn't really think to ask any questions. Some kids suck their thumbs; I figured the thumb just wasn't enough for SB, and she needed a whole hand to satisfy her.

All of the sudden, she yells out, "My tooth!" I looked over at her, and there was blood galore. I realized SB wasn't a hand-sucker; she was a tooth-twister. We ran to the bathroom mirror to get a closer look. Sure enough, a tiny tooth was hanging there by a thread. "Pull it out!" I encouraged her. "I can't! I can't pull teeth out!" she lamented. "Do you want me to pull it out?" I asked her. It had been years since I'd seen a tooth removal in action; I was so excited! We didn't say anything for a while. SB did her thing, and sure enough, out came a little white thingy. "Got it," she announced calmly. As she began to clean it off in the sink, I told her "Be careful! You don't want it to fall down the drain."

I thought back to my lost tooth days, to times when I had thought my tooth was secure, only to find out later that it had fallen somewhere between tooth removal and pillow insertion. I couldn't let SB make the same mistakes I did. "Eh," she shrugged, "it's not such a big deal if it does fall down the drain." I was shocked. I didn't even know what to say. A girl who didn't care if her lost tooth became really lost...forever? Who was this kid?

"It was so fun wiggling it, and now it's over."SB rolled up some toilet paper into a ball and filled the new gap in her grin with it. She successfully washed off her tooth without dropping it and put it into a plastic bag. As she tied a little knot at the top, she said, "Man, I'm so sad." "What are you so sad about?" I asked her, "You just lost a tooth! That's so exciting!" She looked down at the floor, shoulders slumped forward as she plopped down despondently on the couch. "It was so fun wiggling it, and now it's over." I went over to her and put my arm around her shoulder. "Don't worry," I reassured her. "You've got half a mouth of teeth left to wiggle. You'll be all right."

SB left to go show the tooth to her family downstairs, and I packed up my makeshift mini-salon and walked home. As I made my way back to my apartment, I thought about what a different way of thinking SB had. Other kids wiggle to get to the tooth, but SB wiggles for wiggling's sake. Not a bad approach to life. We all tend to go through processes perfunctorily to reach an end goal, never stopping to think about what we gain from the process itself. Be it going to college, dating a guy, or wiggling a tooth, we often focus on the end instead of enjoying the now and appreciating what the path does for us.

Now, thanks to SB, I've decided to try out this new approach and see what happens. It's important to keep the future in mind, but why not enjoy the ride? I think wiggling for wiggling's sake might just be the best life decision I've made in a long time.