Despite the fact that “my kid says…” is generally only cute to the parents and the ass-kissing people in the lives of the parents, my kid says the cutest thing. Often. It’s really just this one that get me lately. Fin will walk into a room, throw her arms wide and sing, “Wa-da!” which is her dramatic and endearing version of “ta-da!”I have a wa-da of my own coming up. I am getting my hair done tonight. It’s only been since October.
[insert disgusted sounds and tsk-tsks for setting a bad example for 3 daughters by not doing things for myself]
I have written plenty on the idea of doing things for ourselves, of finding ways to unabashedly derive joy from basic self-care that so many of us let fall to the wayside in the name of mothering, working or whatever. The reality is that me not scheduling a hair appointment is inexcusable. I’m not talking the works at Aveda (though it is sublime), I mean bangs out of eyes and a manageable cut.
The one thing I can say about waiting so damn long is this: I relish every second when it finally comes along. I realize that Amber isn’t going to fix the permanent furrow in my brow or erase the perpetual sallowness of too little sleep and too many responsibilities, but she is going to do more than my hair. Scissors clipping and comb parting, Amber is going to lift the layer that makes me forget me.
A new cut is going to awaken the girl in me that steps lighter and skips higher when her hair swings just so. I’ll wear a skirt because it makes sense with the hair, and then I’ll nod and think, “What took me so long? I am incredible!” I’ll squeeze my girls and they’ll get the smiles they save for when the laptop is out of sight, Sean is home and neither of us are talking about work. Their real smiles.
Have you seen your incredibleness lately? Can you remember the last time your kids, your partner or your friends gave you the real smile? Isn’t it about time?
I have long believed that hairdressers are actually therapists who heal with wicked style. Enjoy your gorgeous new ‘do.
Honey, I know what you mean. I finally had my hair cut (it’s been since September) really short (4 inches off) on Monday morning while Tom looked after Lilija. And it was 2 hours of uninterrupted, scalp-massaging, fast-paced walking, getting-coffee-on-my-own-without-worrying-about-the-baby BLISS. Enjoy it.
Getting my hair cut and colored is the one pre-baby luxury I held onto. Funny, though, because my son’s hair grows so fast that he must now accompany me to the salon for his own cut.
Sounds like I really need a haircut.
I rarely make time for haircuts too. I find I’m more likely to get my hair done if I’m feeling good about myself in other areas. Guess I hadn’t realized that until I read this.