The Comb-Over Chronicles

My daughter Kelsey was four years old when the sandbox betrayed us.

Now, I’d always known that sandbox play came with risks, muddy clothes, buried pacifiers, the occasional rock passed off as treasure, but I wasn’t prepared for the stealthy scalp ambush that was ringworm.

It started innocently enough. I was combing her hair one morning before daycare and noticed a suspiciously bald, perfectly round patch on the very top of her head. My stomach dropped, my brain rewound, and suddenly I was back in my own childhood, swatting at mosquitoes, scratching flea bites, and getting slathered in Campho-Phenique like it was holy water.

Ringworm was no stranger to me. Growing up in East Texas, we battled every itchy, crawly, jumpy critter imaginable. My momma had a two-step protocol: Blue Star Ointment for anything red, and Campho-Phenique for anything that made you want to claw your skin off. So naturally, I did what any self-respecting Southern mom would do, I hauled myself to the pharmacy and loaded up like I was prepping for the apocalypse.

Kelsey, bless her heart, wasn’t even itching. “No, Mommy,” she said with those big brown eyes. So at least we could contain it, because it is contagious. You see, ringworm is not a worm...it's a common fungal infection, that can affect the skin, hair, and nails, so not sure where it got it’s name, but it sounds gross! And of course, daycare gave me the boot until she was cleared. No school for her. No work for me. Ugh.

The bald patch was glaring, y’all. Like a tiny crop circle on her sweet little head. She couldn’t see it, which was good, but I could, and I was determined to cover it. I attempted a comb-over using her silky strands and a cute barrette, but Kelsey hated anything in her hair. Always had. Probably because when she was a baby, and bald as a cue ball, I used to tape bows to her head so strangers would know she was a girl. It was adorable. Also probably traumatizing.

Desperate, I began bribing her with all manner of treats if she’d just keep the barrette in place. Somewhere between a mini KitKat and a sticker book, she gave in. But every time I looked at her, all I could think of was Mr. Williams, my high school band director. The poor man had the most unfortunate comb-over I’d ever seen. Wavy and wild, it would stick straight up during halftime performances, especially when he got excited and waved that baton like he was conducting Beethoven in a lightning storm. Hard to keep a straight face when your clarinet is bouncing from your giggle fits. Squeak!

Eventually, I gave in and took Kelsey to the doctor. He peered at the bald circle and said, “Let’s biopsy it.” The results? Fungal infection…from horse hair. Excuse me, what? I expected cat dander. Maybe sandbox germs. But horse?

Then it hit me, those horses in the pasture next to our house. The same ones that neigh every time I step onto my porch. The same ones Kelsey talks to through the fence. And yes, the very same ones whose stray hairs likely floated into that sandbox like tiny, fungal Trojan horses.

With medication and time, the ringworm faded. But here’s the kicker: as her hair started growing back, that patch came in straight up. Like a tuft of grass after a drought. Like she’d been licked by a cow, or horse.

And every morning, it stood there like a little reminder. Not just of ringworm, but of how parenthood is full of surprises, some gross, some sweet, some just plain weird.

But mostly, it reminded me that motherhood is a lot like that stubborn patch of hair: unpredictable, messy, sometimes standing on end, but it always grows back stronger.

And me? Well, I now keep Blue Star Ointment stocked in my cabinet. Because as Kelsey’s hair stood tall and proud on the top of her head, I couldn’t help but think…at least now, she had her very own East Texas beauty mark, served with a side of sandbox and sass!