chopped…again

If there is anything that never changes about me and my hair is that, for now, it remains ginger if not ginger-er (thank you my darling daughter #!!) and that it can be seen in any given length at any given time of any given year of any given life-stage of my life. Did you see that crazy 30-second video of 31 years of hair marriage?

When Bill and I got married, my hair was extraordinarily long…and big…it was the 80’s. My sister-in-law worked her magic and wrestled all that hair up into the most fantastical Gibson Girl knot to go with the Gunne Sax gown that I wore the day that we were married. So amazing was that up-do because it did not move as Bill and I drove down Highway 17 in a convertible with the top down. I bow down to Teri’s skills and Aqua Net and so many hair pins that I was still finding trapped in my hair days later while on our honeymoon. But soon enough the honeymoon was over and I CHOPPED off all that hair…pretty much all of it. Bill came home from work one day a few months later to find that his bride was now sporting a spiky pixie shorter than his epic afro. He had no clue that this was going to happen. It was that day that I knew that it was so much more than my hair that he loved as he did not react at all. Well, he did ask me, after telling me how his day was at work, to next time I did something crazy with my hair just let him know. It was only over dinner, and a couple beers, did he confess that the first thought that came to his mind that day was “What the fuck did she do?!” But he wisely decided that he should not say that out loud. And so I promised him that…and over the last 31 years I have kept that promise…every time I chopped off all the hair or subjected it to some crazy-assed spiral perm because my thick, wavy, curly, unruly hair wasn’t nearly crazy enough for those dark times known as the late 80s-early 90s. Looking back through the years it seems that I go every three to four years before I do something crazy, drastic to my hair and, as I promised my darling husband, I let him know.

So I’m thinking that I’m going to let Hollie chop off all of my hair…

And then I did…and Hollie did.

Yes, I know what Coco Chanel said:
A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life.

I’m also aware of that school of thought that “When a woman cuts her hair off, it’s not about wanting a cute new look, no matter what anyone says. It’s about sheer emotional turmoil…But why should this be? Why should a woman’s hair have anything to do with her emotions?
Because hair, for almost every woman, represents femininity and beauty, and sometimes, therefore, what she thinks of herself. When you deal with these aspects of a woman, emotions naturally run high.”

Um, yeah. No. It’s amazing that people believe and think like that.

Different strokes, I guess.

Why I from time to time will chop all the hair off is because I feel the need to get out from under the security blanket that is my hair. I have no choice but to be bolder without all the hair. There is so much more to me than a glorious head of hair with long, luscious locks…and yes, I do believe that when long it is pretty glorious and luscious. Still there is so much more to me than all of that hair.

Some would suggest that I can do that because I have the right face for such a look but then again with confidence, boldness, rebellion and a little discomfort comes the ability to wear one’s hair that short. The shape of one’s face, their cheekbones and bone structure have little to do with confidence, boldness, rebellion and discomfort.

Sometimes the hair was all chopped off because it was time for a change…a new baby or two or three or more come to mind. Sometimes you just need a change. Sometimes you just want the ability to practically wash and go and not be stuck with that equally wash and go ponytail or top-knot because tension alopecia is not pretty.

So today, for now, most, er, some of the hair is gone and I’m feeling a little bit scalped and ten pounds lighter, definitely cooler and perhaps a little bit more vulnerable without that veil to hide behind… I’m liking it.

Yes, my darling husband, and the rest of the family approves too…or at least is used to the time to change. again. Then again, it does run in the family…even to the next generation too.

No big deal. It’s just hair.

 

 

 

promping v. 2014

If it’s Spring then it is time to promp again here under the Big Top. Such is the life of raising a family of five circus clowns growing up much, much too fast. Actually this will be the last promping time for awhile. I imagine that when Daniel is old enough and if he chooses to go to prom that it won’t be such a big deal as it is now…and truthfully my girls are much, much more low maintenance than some peers…thank goodness. Still, I won’t lie, I do live a little bit vicariously through my girls’ proms because that wasn’t one of those things I got to share with my Mommy Dearest even if I did have a boyfriend through high school…that dang “no-dancing-because-it-is-a-sin” thing that he and his family ascribed to.

Oh well.

But this year’s promping is again all about Jodie…her Senior Prom!

There was the dress shopping.

It MUST be a burden to be a hanger that every single dress one tries on looks absolutely perfect. I’m going to keep telling myself that. These were part of her top 4. Wait for it…the winner is coming.

But horrors! A monkey wrench in all the promping.

A tumbling mishap at dance earlier this week which she tried to tough it out until yesterday when she could scarcely lift her arm. That could be a problem. Xrays ruled out a broken clavicle but it was determined to be a sprain of ligaments connecting her clavicle to her shoulder joint so the good doctor recommended no dancing for a week and to wear a sling to keep her arm in a neutral position.

I know, first world problems.

Still, we pressed onward because it is promping time.

Who else would be doing hair and makeup besides big sister? Really?

Ta-da!!!

Actually this is the only picture with the sling. We made a deal and yes, against medical advice, she went sling-less to the prom promising to be careful. I’m not worried. Her shoulder and collar bone are quite sore still and she has limited range of motion so there won’t be any throwing her hands up in the air because she can’t. Plus next weekend is a big dance competition so with the exception of tonight, she is motivated to follow doctor’s orders. Besides, this dress…

…with a sling?

Yeah.

Aren’t they cute?

They’re just friends which is okay because promping is so much more fun with friends.

Truly.

 

 

#thickhairproblems

I have thick hair. No, I have REALLY thick hair. I have the kind of thick hair where perimenopausal hair loss is no big deal; once you adjust to the fact that, no, you are not dying because although it is a lot of hair there is so much more on your head. I have the kind of thick hair that most hairstylists hate. At least I have been told that…by a few stylists through the years…except for the one who does my hair now…whom I gave birth to. Perhaps she doesn’t complain because of the fact that I am her mother.

Nah!

Come on! This is Hollie we are talking about! No, Hollie insists that although there is a lot of hair to work with there could be worse problems that a stylist can have…

Like maybe a toddler with super thick hair sitting in your chair?

Perhaps so.

Little Miss Fallon decided that she wanted short hair. Yes, little Miss Fallon Elizabeth with that epic, thick, gorgeous, strawberry-blonde hair. Where in the world would this girl with the gorgeous hair get an idea like that? Damned if I would know! Lucky for her she has a mama who is quite skilled at cutting and styling epic, thick, hair with a stubborn life of its own.

Unlike some of those less fortunate ones whose mommy dearests would literally scalp them because they had no clue how to cut and style epic, thick hair with double barrel cowlicks. The photographic proof through the years would make you weep. I know it did for me.

Oh why?!

As for this little pixie, she is lucky and very adorable.

And clearly she approves.

You’ll excuse me now while I go and make a little pillow stuffed with baby angel hair.

the girl with the hair

The hair on this 23 month old little girl is amazing.

It’s thick, like her mama’s, her auntie Jodie’s and her Mima’s. And it has a life of it’s own like her auntie Zoë’s and her Mima’s.

Yes, her mama is an amazingly skilled and talented hair stylist making the Central Valley more beautiful. You’re welcome Central Valley! Please don’t judge her skills by looks of this rag mop. Seriously, I had just brushed her hair before this shot.

Epic. Stubborn. A beautiful mess. Just like Fallon.

sunshine brings blonde strawberries

From the time she was a little baby, and through the years, Jodie has always been our sunshine-y little towhead.

Where did the blonde come from?“, folks would ask looking at me, then Bill, then our other strawberry-blonde and auburn-haired children.

True.

On another note, check the awesomeness that was my darling husband back in 1999.

Yeah, baby!

But yes, some people wondered not realizing I was the only redhead amongst my blonde siblings nor knowing Bill’s blonde older sister and brother. In the genes, people. It’s in the genes. And it seemed only fitting that our bright, happy child with the sunshine-y personality would be the one with the bright, happy, sunshine-y hair.

But today that changed.

Just another strawberry blonde in the family; or as Hazel says, blonde strawberries…bright, happy, sunshine-y blonde strawberries!