Dear Baby Girls

I’m not someone who scares easily but I recently felt my blood turn to ice. No, it wasn’t the twins using my DVDs as frisbees or finding them precariously perched somewhere. It was a simple sentence delivered by their dance teacher.

“Anthony, you need to put their hair up into buns each week.”

Now I can do a lot of things. I’m flexible, curious and my already large skillset has expanded enormously since becoming a stay-at-home dad. But one skill that eludes me is the hair.

For starters I have large, thick fingers. Secondly, unlike most of the fairer gender I haven’t been playing with hair my whole life. My curls mean I’ve always just kept it short. So no personal experience.

But Anthony I hear you cry: you’ve been home for years with the girls. Surely you’ve picked a thing or two up by now.

Um… no. Not with hair.

You see they both had short hair for ages. And even when it grew I’ve had a great support network (you rock grandma!) not to mention a routine that sees Mummy Time before work in the morning include doing the hair.

It wasn’t something I actively avoided but the few times I’ve tried haven’t been successful. And when I say unsuccessful, think Hindenberg.

In fact Rhapsody, who has inherited my curls, has registered a formal protest that she doesn’t want Daddy practicing on her anymore.

Gypsy has straight hair so I’ve been able to fashion one or two ponytail/pigtails that’ll do the job. Well as long as you don’t put it under too much stress such as exposing it to extreme exercise. Or perhaps mild exercise.

Or a light breeze.

Or movement in general.

But never let it be said I’m not up for a challenge or ready to pick up a new skill. Off to youtube I went to learn how to pull hair back, where to put the clips, what to do with the pins and how to do a bun.

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! WHAT IS THIS EVIL?!?

“It’s all quite simple” says the lady with a beaming smile before frantically contorting her arms, hands and fingers into something resembling a highly caffeinated jazz hands routine then pulling them back seconds later to reveal a perfect bun.

It was like a magic trick. Especially the part where I couldn’t work out how she did it.

I suspect trick photography or a deal with the devil.

Even a slow-motion watch didn’t help. I think making balloon animals would be easier than doing my childrens’ hair at this point. Heck, I think a fusion reactor is looking less complex.

Which is why we later turn up at grandma’s wearing our GAP hoodies. With the hoods up.

Okay so maybe they DID look like they were casing the joint but at least they were trendy clothes. That counts right?

This story doesn’t have a happy ending yet. I’m still trying to learn but I’m pulling more of my hair out than putting theirs in. I actually think swimming caps may become necessary for dance classes.

Actually there’s an idea. Take the girls out of dance class and enrol them in synchronised swimming. Dancing with swimming caps is still dancing right?