So I’ve been seriously thinking about getting a new ‘do and I finally decided to just get a wash and cut. Every time I get ready to go bold, return to the creamy crack and get crazy with the scissors, I come up with reasons why having the natural hair is so much better than anything else. This last trip to the salon has me convinced for life that it’ll be wash and go or nothing at all.I tried the stylist that my mom has been using over at Dillard’s. If I’m going to get my hair done, I need an appointment, none of this walk-in shit and sit forever while folks who came in after you get in and out before you — that’s the kind of shit you see at those round brush salons — or so I thought.
4 hours later — yes, that is 4, four, hours — I was done. Truth be told, it was alright, but it wasn’t as flat or as straight as I would have liked. Still, I’d been there the better part of the afternoon and was motoring home to let the babysitter in so DH and I could see The Dark Knight (SO good!). Priorities people.When I’ve had my hair blown out in the past, my biggest concern is making sure that I don’t sweat it out before I even leave the salon. Seeing as it’s been hotter than the inside of the Devil’s drawers, I was afraid to even leave the mall! Still, we had fandangoed our tickets, so rather than wrapping it up and rolling home in the ‘do rag, I just hopped in the car and rolled.
I opened the front door and Mo comes careening out of the kitchen towards me until she actually takes a good long look at my ‘do.
“Oh, Mommy,” she breathes (not kidding, she was in a hair trance) “Look at your long hair!” And when I picked her up, her little hands were inspecting every strand, piling it up high and letting it fall back down. “Oh, Mommy, I like your long hair!”
“I like your hair, Mo.” I told her, trying to extricate her hands from my scalp. I looked over at Co who was giving me her best, “Um, and you would be?” look. She wasn’t having any of it. Her sister, though, was following me offering commentary on my “princess hair”. Ugh! Not what I had in mind. It was all I could do to not stick my head under the faucet right then and there. Not the message I want to impart. I just needed a change because I was bored, not because I think that there is something inherently wrong with my curly curls. How do you explain that to a 2 1/2 year old?
Fast forward to yesterday afternoon. Big thunderstorm, no umbrellas. Guess what happened to my hair?
But you know what? I’m not even mad about it. I mean, I gave the straight hair a good run even though I spent the majority of the week sweatin‘ like a whore in church over whether or not I was going to sweat the straight right out. Never mind the fact that the half an hour I purposely get up early for so that I can do my own thing was being usurped by my need to unwrap my hair, brush it out, put the curling iron to it, spray it with sheen and do all the other assorted hair care/maintenance routines that are part and parcel of having certain ‘do’s.
Plus, I am able to make this a teachable moment for Mo who has been gnawing at me about “Why you lose your long hair? Where did it go? Where’s your princess hair?” I need for her to know that I am, that she is, that her grandmothers are, that her sister is BEAUTIFUL no matter what they have growing out of their heads, no matter the color, the texture, the length, the style. I tell her that I like the long hair, but I love my curls and that I love her curls, too.
Oh and if any of you hear me kvetching about how I need a change, how I’m tired of my hair, just point me back here and say, “Curly girls of the world, UNITE!!!”
