I wasn't born with hair. I was born with feathers. Seriously. Fluffy, non substantially, frizzy feathers. If I gather it all in a ponytail it's about the thickness of a straw. A very small, very thin straw. It's been a curse all my life. Especially as I got to hear the complaints of people like Julianne and Laurie who had gorgeously thick, amazing hair.
And while I fear that I have passed on my bad hair genes to Bentley and possibly Ivy. Gwen hit the lottery. Gwen got Blaine's hair. Thick, gorgeous, naturally highlighted hair.
The kind I will curse when I have to buy the "extra thick" barrettes for in high school.
The kind that people comment on.
The stuff of legends.
And I knew this day would come. This idle Wednesday. Deep down in my heart of hearts I knew.
Actually, no. I used to figure I knew it would come, but at this point. I thought we had escaped.
I had no idea when I laid Bentley and Ivy down for a nap this afternoon and wearily climbed into my bed, weary and longing for just a moments rest. As Gwen sat busily playing with play dough I knew the moment was fleeting and that I would get fifteen minutes, at best, of uninterrupted sleep.
So when she came in. I wasn't surprised. And when she held up a ziploc bag and said, "Mom! Look! I want to show you something!" I wasn't surprised either.
But, as I sleepily got my eyes into focus I noticed she had a baggie full of the most beautiful corn silk.
and that is when the surprise came
No! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I shouted. "UNDO!" AGH. NOOOO. NO Gwen, not now.
Not three months away from starting kindergarten.
Not now when your hair has finally grown back from three years ago when I cut it. On purpose.
It was karma coming back to get me for the time I shaved off my eyebrowns and cut my eyelashes.
The mothers curse rearing its ugly head.
I wasn't mad. I was sad. Really really sad.
Because it is short folks. Really, really short.
On the upside. I think we may just be cool enough to single handedly bring
the mullet back into style.
Excuse me while I grab a box of tissues.
Um, seriously though, look at the below picture. Do you think I could fix her hair like this for...I dunno the next THREE years while it grows out?
On the bright side. She completely blames her grandma. She claims she cut it because she wants to remember what color it was when she was five, just like Grandma has a baggie with her hair in it from when she was young. Who needs a digital camera when you can have a gallon size baggie of your own hair?