Hair (which post may or may not be embarrassing to my kids, but they don’t read this, so, whew!)

At our house, we are obsessed with hair.

Doing our hair, drying our hair, washing our hair. What color it is, how long it is, how we will fix it up for dates,  how it looks when we open the door. How it looks when we get home versus how it looked when we left for school. How it looked when our crush saw us.

We worry a lot about whether or not it is fraught with ‘twinkies’ (tiny little fuzzy pieces of hair that stick out of your ‘do).

We have lots of questions about our hair.  Does it look better curly or straight? Up or down? Braids or ponytail? Highlights? Side part or middle? Is it soft? Is it shiny?

Does it look….. stupid?

This is because “we” are teen-aged girls,  I’m thinking.  Before these girls were magically transformed into the appearance concerned citizens they are today, I did their hair, sometimes, for church.  I tried to make sure it was brushed. I had to chase them down,  sit on them and beg them to let me comb their hair. Curlers were met with cries of anguish and the sorrowful question: “Why do you hate me?” I tried to use the curling iron once. The girl, who’s identity shall remain anonymous, but her name starts with J and ends with essica, told everyone who would listen for weeks that I tried to burn her up. I had to cut a dreadlock out of Melinda’s hair when she was 11 because I let her take charge of her own hair brushing for two weeks and she didn’t.  Ever.


When it came to my hair, well, let’s just say I wore a LOT of ponytails. Between the 1991 and 2000, I’m pretty sure I supported the manufacturing of scrunchies.  I wore French Braids until it was ridiculous,  and owned at least 10 giant ‘claw clips’. My chief goal was to get it all out of my face.  Period. That’s my number one favorite thing about short hair. No hair touching my face.

But I remember how I USED to be.

Keep in mind, it was the 80’s.

I got up hours before it was sensible and began to ‘do my hair’. It must be washed and dried and curled and teased and sprayed until it was BIG.


If it looked ‘stupid’, I started over.


Then I had kids. Suddenly, my hair just didn’t matter. At all. I mean, AT ALL. I tried to make sure it got brushed for church, but I generally just finger scraped it all up and away from my face and secured it with a scrunchie or clip of some sort.

I’m ashamed to say I cut my own bangs for a full 15 years.

But now. Now that these hair obsessed people follow me around asking hairy questions all the time, I find myself worrying about my hair more. Is it too gray? Are my roots showing? Should I straighten? Should I curl? Does it make me look too young?  Too old?

Even Blair worries about his hair now.

My concern is, when the girls are gone, taking with them their fashion sense and penetrating questions, will I end up with hair that looks….

heaven forbid….


You would tell me, right?:)



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