hair project, week three

The curls are back. It’s a good thing, really, as growing this dumpy mop of hair will be much easier if I can pass off the messiness as my curls. Also, this week I’ve been looking at old photos both at home and at work.  I’ve seriously had the same haircut for about 11 years now.  The only thing that has changed is the color – and man, there has been a lot of color. I’ve made myself a color appointment for mid-March and I am going to stay blond…it just fits me best, I think. In the meantime I have started a “hair” board on Pinterest. I love that site, and particularly because now all my inspiration for my ‘do is in one place. The only downside is that people keep saying to me, “I love all the short haircuts! We should get our hair cut together like that! Great haircuts!” For me, though, it’s NOT a cut – my hair is so damn short that most of those pictures are MONTHS of growth for me! OH! the best news? I found the stash of barrettes I'd put aside so long ago. Yay! I present, week 3 (which is actually a lie - it's been SIX whole weeks since I've had my hair cut.) Ta-da!

week three

valentimes

I spent yesterday wondering how or what I could have written differently in my last blog post. It bothered me that I set off such a firestorm of comments and I felt like I hadn’t conveyed my message in the right way. Even though I enjoy making people think and talk, I never intend my words to offend or upset people beyond that. That was yesterday...sleep offered up perspective and today my children are running around in their underwear (inside, of course, they've made a beach in my living room) enjoying the first snow day of the season. I’m done wondering what I could have done differently yesterday because, in the end, it doesn’t really matter.

Today I’ve been thinking about Valentine’s Day and how much emphasis people place upon it.  It’s always been ridiculous to me, even before I married the guy who earns his livelihood in the greeting card business.  I think about Valentine’s Days past, where we would transform shoeboxes into mailboxes with tissue and glitter and stickers, and we would wait for children to place notes inside.  Later, in high school, I remember watching who would have a carnation delivered during 3^rd hour. It was always, in both cases, a popularity contest disguised as something different. I’ve never seen the point in using one day a year to profess your love to someone.  At least I’ve never understood being strong-armed into buying flowers or chocolates or even (yep, I’m going to say it) cards – none of which will last very long.

I’m terrible at showing my love for my husband in appropriate ways. I’m certain he will be the first to agree with me on this. I like to laugh and to poke fun and I rarely tell him in so many words how happy he has made me over the years.  A lot has changed since Steve and I met and in the 11 years since.  The past year or so has been particularly challenging for me. I’m not wholly certain why, but I know I’ve not been the best spouse, or even a very good friend at times.  And I continue to assume that he knows how I feel, even though I often do a shitty job of showing it.  It’s not fair to him, really.  I said last week that anyone who professes love over and over again on the internet is probably lying. I’m not going to do that here for a lot of reasons: mostly because I can hardly do it to his face without turning it into a joke of some kind. That’s just how we do things around here. I will say that it’s never, ever been a popularity contest for us. And I thank my stars for that.

oh, Whitney.

I feel like everyone is dancing around this topic and so I’m going to just come out and say it. Whitney Houston’s passing is sad, to be sure. She was an icon and had a wonderful voice, of course. But she was a drug addict with opportunities that most people would NEVER have to clean herself up, and she couldn’t succeed.  Social media has kept us informed of the situation and has given everyone and his brother a platform to mourn Whitney…which is, I suppose, what social media is for.  But I can’t help to wonder what people would be saying if Whitney had been arrested, again. Or if she had hurt someone else as a result of her addiction?  How would people be responding if this situation was different?

I can think of three good friends who have gotten sober this year. Three. And these are people who decided finally that life would be better without drugs and alcohol. These are all people who don’t have the celebrity and the access to help like Whitney did.  These are people who don’t have the kind of money that Whitney did. People who didn't have Oprah Winfrey as a friend – people who were simply tired of having the proverbial monkey on their backs.  The public needs to hear stories like this – not another celebrity death story again. It’s sad, it truly is – I’m a human being and would never wish harm to people, but I can’t believe that this story is shocking to ANYONE. Whitney Houston has been a parody of herself for a long, long while. Her death is tragic – to the daughter she leaves behind. Not to the people mourning her in their Facebook status.  Tomorrow, they will move on and forget all about Whitney. Next weekend at the bars they’ll sing her hits karaoke style.

It’s just sad to me that the media won't focus on the people who are trying – and succeeding – at getting themselves sober.

flow it, show it long as God can grow it

I’m so done with school and writing curriculum right now that I just can’t possibly think of anything original to write. BUT. But…I thought I could hold myself accountable by posting something totally trivial and shallow to everyone but myself. A few weeks ago, while visiting my sister in law in San Francisco, we began talking about hair and how she grew hers out in the past few years. I’ve been toying with the thought of growing mine for ages, but after we talked about it, I decided that it was time for a change in my follicles.

Hair. People place such high standards on hair. They write songs about it. There is a musical about it. Believe me, people are judging you for your coiffed ‘do. Or your roots. Or your bad home color job. Or your unwashed, messy bedhead. Trust me, even though I hear the, “I wish I could wear my hair that short!” comment over and over again, what I really hear in my head is, “good lord, your hair is SO short. I can see your wrinkled neck so much better now. You really look like a soccer mom!” And I love that the only people who ever comment on my hair in an absolutely positive way every. single. time. are black women. Probably because they recognize me as the one who got away. I swear I was born to the wrong race.

I digress. My point is that I am growing out this ‘do. Partly because it’s just time for something new, and partly because last night my kids got a set of Polly Pockets and I look vaguely like one of them. The one named Rick. Before too long, I’ll be old and I’ll be expected to have short, old lady hair. Not that I think my hair is old lady-ish now – in fact, I think it’s pretty fun. But, it’s time for a change. It’s time for me to be something other than the girl with the SUPER SHORT hair. And if I don’t have time to write anything for myself these days, at least I can take pictures of my progress. Please hold me to this – tell me I look amazing – even when you see the picture that makes you want to cry out, “CUT IT OFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!”  Anyone who has ever grown out the shortest of short cuts knows, I’m going to need some support. And I’ll take all I can get. 

hair project - week one