Hair It Is....

My first blog post of the new year!  And it has been a long time coming, hasn't it?  But who's counting?

I've been putting off this "first post of the new year" for several days, now.  I feel some pressure to commemorate the start of a new year of blogging with something that will enlighten and astound my readers.  Something so full of profundity that you will quote me for days.  That's how bloggers ring in the new year, right?   Right?

But I don't do so well under pressure.  When pressured, I tend to do the opposite of what everyone is expecting me to do.  

Today, the extent of my profundity is about seven inches past my shoulder blades.

That's right, I'm going there.

HAIR.

I'm blogging about hair.  My own and the hair I've passed on genetically.  And mine is currently long.  Not Crystal Gale long, but long.

See?  That's not just a chubby mermaid who traded her voice for legs, you're looking at there.  (Although, it could be.  But that is a story which if I tell right now, will completely derail this train of thought.  So let's BRUSH it aside, shall we?)  That's me, with hair seven inches past the shoulder blades.    I've been blessed with abundant hair--hair that grows thickly and quickly--hair that is straight and fine but requires a supersize band to pull it into a ponytail--hair that falls out in clumps after the birth of each baby, but comes back faithfully everytime.  It really is a blessing.

I'd like to cut it all off, donate it to some cHAIRitable organiztion, enjoy the perky cuteness of a shorter do.  There was a time when I was something of a hair schizophrenic, jumping from long to short and back again (without the aid of extensions) several times a year.  But I don't do much of that, these days.

Not since I married the Bionic Man.  He's something of a long-hair fanantic, darn him.  And I happen to kind of value his good opinion.  Even when it comes to my hair.  Sigh.

Besides, I wouldn't be too happy if he got rid of his hair.  And I have to admit, I like it when he adds in some facial hair.  Look at this:

Doesn't it make him look professor-ish?  Kind of fun for a change, now and then.  Oh, the Bionic Man is not going to like these pictures I'm posting.  But I don't think he reads my blog, so we'll carry on.

Here's the thing.  The Bionic Man and I were both born bald.  Very, very bald.  It took many moons before our hair even began to sprout.  My mother swears I didn't have enough hair to comb until I was two years old.

I believe her, because I gave birth to several cue ball heads, myself.  Exhibit A:  Justone.

Note the lush hair sported by myself and the Bionic Man in this picture, dating sometime around Justone's fourth month of life.  You might think that dark spot is hair on his head, but upon closer inspection you will see it is really the shadow cast by my hair and the Bionic Man's chin.  And look at Endeavor.  She had just turned two, and I was thrilled to be able to "style" her "hair" with a velcro clip.

Exhibit B: Endeavor at Birth

"Oh look!"  I exclaimed upon seeing my baby for the first time.  "She has hair!  Yeah!  I gave birth to a baby with hair!"  But then her head grew.  And her hair did not.

Exhibit C: Superkid at fourteen months.  Where's the hair?

If you squint, you can see it just coming in.  Yep, right there.  What is so funny about this picture is Justone's hair.  Look at that!  It's gorgeous!  It finally came in, and it is thick.  It is also a color that some women pay lots and lots of money to recreate on their own heads, with limited success.  I call it, "Gingersnap."

Superkid was just so bald for so long that we have lots and lots of evidence of the slow-growing hair gene in our family.

I also have evidence that Superkid tried shrimp and liked it five years ago.  Why won't she eat it now?

Eventually, as Justone demonstrated, their hair grows.  And grows.

Endeavor got to a point where she wanted it very long.  A la Chrystal Gale.  She didn't want it trimmed.  It was always tangled.  It was always in her face.  The ends were split.  It was messy.

I convinced her to let me trim it.  "Just a couple of inches," I reassured her.  "Just enough so there won't be any split ends.  I won't cut it all off."

Even though I wanted to.

But I tried to make good on my promise.  Just a couple of inches.  Too bad she tipped her chin down as I made the first cut....and I had to lop off the rest of her hair to match.  What a happy accident!

She loved it.

Superkid, on the other hand......it took us a few years to be able to do this.

Not spill cheerios, silly!  We were able to do that from the get go.  I'm talking about a ponytail.  If you squint your eyes, you'll see it.  Eventually, we even got as far as hair to the shoulders with Superkid.

And then one day--one dark and stormy day--we had a hair-raising adventure.  I discovered this on the kitchen floor:

Yep.  That's hair.  Superkid's hair.  Most  of Superkid's hair.  And the scissors weren't far away.

Keep in mind that this was just two days prior to Superkid's Make-A-Wish trip to Disney World.

Luckily, Sarah could fit us into her schedule.  She did what she could.

Superkid ended up looking like this:

Mmmmhmmmm.

Now, mothers of children who have recently created their own dynamic hairstyles thanks to an errant pair of scissors, take hope.  I give you this:

You are looking at the current head of hair that belongs to Superkid.  Styled by me the night of the recent Daddy-Daughter Dance at our elementary school.  Dang, I'm good!

She liked it.  And it is a good thing, because it took me a loooong time to get curl in my girls' hair.  Together, they have quite a bit of it.  Just look at Endeavor:

I'll tell you, that's a lot of hair to curl.

Here's the story.  About an hour before the dance, Endeavor casually mentioned how many of the girls in her fifth grade class left school early to go get their hair done.....and the pressure was on.  Only, this time I rose to the occaision.  I do like to show off, now and then.  So I fluffed and brushed and curled and gelled and sprayed like a pro.....even though I'm an amateur.  And voila!  I saved $50, easy.  And my girls looked and felt fabulous.

"You could work at a fancy salon, Mom," Endeavor told me.  "My hair was way better than anyone who left school early."

Like I said, we've been blessed with good hair.   Hair-leluja!