"Mommy," Anaya asked me tonight as we were cleaning the playroom together, "how many hairs are on my head?"
"Only Jesus knows," I responded.
"But couldn't you count them?"
"There are too many to count. I don't have time."
"But I want to know!"
"Count them yourself."
I watched as she pulled a tuft of hair forward and studied it for a few seconds. "Mommy, I'm tired of counting," she concluded. "You count them."
"I have too much to do. I'm not counting the hairs on your head. Anyway, by the time I got them all counted, some would have fallen out." Mommies are so logical.
"Maybe they won't fall out."
"They do. Whenever you brush your hair, hairs fall out."
"Then I will just never brush my hair, and you can count them all."
"Anaya, I'm not counting your hairs! And even if you didn't brush them, hairs would still fall out."
She pondered this. "But we could wait until one was about to fall out, and then tape it on."
"Anaya." I sighed. "Remember how much it hurt when I pulled off the big Band-Aid that was stuck to the hairs on your arm? Tape hurts when it comes off of hairs."
"But what if we put the tape on a dead person's hair? Would it hurt them?"