Pulling my hair out

Every once in a while I make a big mistake in what I allow the kids to do. Yesterday witnessed one of those errors in judgement. Even now I can't remember how this 'activity' started, but I know that it ended with me lying on the floor flanked by Jacob and Hannah as they searched my head for white hairs.
In the last year more than a few snowy strands have appeared on my head and I actually kind of liked them ... at first. However, each time I pull my hair into a ponytail, the layers hiding underneath reveal my age. Thus, somehow, the kids noticed my new arrivals as well and began to pull. I initially justified my concessions with: "Hey, what a great way for J and H to work on their fine motor skills!" Dave disagreed, "This has to stop, Elena." Now, I concur.
You see, in my peripheral vision I keep thinking that Jacob is gazing lovingly at me. I change my focus and look at my oldest son hoping to meet his eyes and give him a motherly smile. Instead of a tender exchange between generations, I discover that his eyes are intently focused upon my head as he searches with great intensity for any more "rotten hairs". He has told me that if he takes out my white hairs I will not get old. (If this were true, I would finally have a viable home business. ) And, just in case you think that I have regained control, rest assured. As I write, I am surrounded by the twins and every few seconds I feel a pinch of my scalp followed by a, "Hee, hee, sorry." Yeah right.