"Don't forget I'm picking you up at school today."

"Why?" I could see it in her eyes, so hopeful I was going to take her somewhere really cool and awesome. Maybe even Disneyland.

"I have to get my hair cut."

"NO! NOT THAT PLACE!"

"It will take twenty minutes."

"I HATE THAT PLACE!"

"You know that's part of not having after-school care. I can't let you come home on the bus without me here. Your bus driver wouldn't even let you get off if I weren't here."

"I HATE THE SMEEEELLLLLLL!"

I sat down. It was only 7:50 a.m. and my head already hurt. This was one of those fights that you have with your kid that can't be won without a "because I said so."

But I know she hates the smell. It's a hair salon, chock-full of chemical odors that offend the sensibilities of the child who refuses to sit next to me when I use Tobasco sauce because of the smell.

I looked over at her. Tears streamed down her face as she looked at me -- not in anger, but with this expression pleading with me not to subject her to the terrible fate that is the lair of my stylist.

I weighed my desire to save her against the reality that she would have to go with me. I didn't want to win it. I just wanted to end it.

I walked to the freezer and took out a lavendar-scented eye mask. I warmed it in my hands and held it up to her nose.

"Breathe."

She breathed.

She smiled.

"Do you like the smell?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to take this with you to the salon?"

"Yes."

"Can we stop having this conversation now?"

"Yes."

She stuffed my eye mask into her backpack, and I knew -- yes, I knew -- that I was sacrificing my pretty silk lavendar-scented eye mask that I love but never, ever use in order to walk around the wall instead of beating my head against it.

Maybe I was right. Maybe I was wrong. But she's still going with me, right? We don't all have to suffer.