HAIR

I do not like this idea that my hair follicles now have a mind of their own. I don’t dye my hair. I have before, and it’s not like I have a bunch of proud “all-natural” ideas. I just find that I never take time to get back to the salon to have it done. Inevitably, I found myself walking around with half grown-out hair. This is also one of the prime reasons my hair is not styled. I just have better things to do. Not that all of you gorgeous women out there don’t have better things to do, I just have things I would rather be doing. Some day maybe, when my children are all in school (and my husband is OUT of school), this will be something I do to fill my day. While my hair, in the last 13 years has gradually turned from honey-blonde to an icky brown, I’ve taken it mostly in stride. Over the last year I have noticed the gray creeping in. Not just a strand here or a strand there. I can handle slowly going gray ALL OVER. However, it is quite disconcerting to have a chunk of hair here and a chunk of hair there going gray. Seriously. I will admit these chunks so far are hidden rather well when I wear my hair down. But, with my “other things I’d rather be doing attitude,” I occasionally like to pull my hair back. I look like a skunk. And yes, like a skunk, I think it stinks. What is it that set off my hair gripe today you say? I just found a single black hair among the brown/gray streaks. I have no silly notions that my hair will all decide to turn a beautiful dark color all together. I could see going out of this world the same color I came into it-with beautiful black hair (not planning on a hasty retreat by the way, the phrase just worked). No. I’m sure the black streaks will mix with the brown/gray to make the skunk mane look complete. Maybe one day sooner rather than later I will have to break down and do something to make my look a little less like it has multiple personalities. Oh, and the best kicker? My new black hair is right in front, growing the OPPOSITE direction as the other hairs.


Maybe the underlying displeasure at the mane on top of my head could be the reason I was totally thrown when I came home from Ty’s basketball game a week ago to find not only two little boys with shaved heads (which I can handle, by the way), to a husband with a shaved head. Okay, okay. There WAS a little (a very little) bit of hair still hanging out on top. I’ve told him time and time again that his red hair is a privilege and a responsibility. This standpoint of mine is always responded to with, “You have no idea how hard it is to have to clothing shop for your hair color.” True. My hair doesn’t clash with much (and it is currently doing it’s best to provide a wide range of natural colors). I tried to put a smile on my face as supportive wife should. Really. But he could see right through it. The tears in my eyes didn’t help. Although quickly forgiven, if I come home again to a head of almost non-existent hair that hasn’t fallen out naturally, my response might be, “You’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do Ricky!” I might have to hide the clippers.