Monday, October 3, 2011

I don't do hair....

which is a good thing because God gave me all boys.

Any friends with girls know that I will read to their girls, play with their girls, and keep their girls for as long as necessary. But I will not do hair. If whatever doo dad adorning their hair happens to fall out, come loose, or unkink while said girl is in my possession, she will have to wait until her mom returns. To do her hair.

I barely do my own hair. Now. At one time in the hormonal years, also known as the 80's, a curly perm was the order of the day. I chemically treated my hair to within a quarter inch of its life. Along with shaving to the scalp the side of my head, just over the ears, so as to give greater size to the big hair that entire decade demanded. I was obsessed with my hair.

I cried when it frizzed. I yelled when it tangled. I stomped my feet in frustration when the hairstylist said that I had to truly wait the requisite three months before my next perm or else my hair would shock itself right out of my everloving scalp. In tiny, tiny shreds.

Then one morning in college while completely exasperated yet again with my hair, I made the unequivocal decision that I no longer cared. Life was hard enough without my hair causing despair. That's when I no longer began to do hair.

It's all worked out rather nicely as I married a guy who liked my hair long, so I invested in all manner of great barrettes and bows and clips and simply pinned up the tresses out of my way for a daily fix. When we moved here to Hotter Than, GA, I had hair I could sit on. May rolled around and I cut that stuff right off. Drastic, I know, but I didn't do hair so it had to go.

Ever since, I've used the grow it out, cut it off, lather, rinse, repeat rule when it has come to my hair. I depend upon my hair stylist to say let's change it up. She keeps it the color she likes, adds the highlights she wants, and trims off whatever needs trimming. I'm her own big Barbie fashion head. Works for me.

Said guy and I had four boys. Boys with hair that did not require my fussing with, over, or about. Husband has always done their hair. In the basement with clippers these days, and he vacuums the mess up too. It's a terrific union for us. They go downstairs shaggy and come upstairs trimmed.

Lately though, some things have changed with the turning of the teenage hormones. Hair is becoming their issue. And frankly, I'm trying to keep my thoughts to myself. Which is why I have this blog. The youngest has always been a bit picky with his hair since it tends to the whole Alfalfa sticking up bit, but I think that hearing his older two brothers talk about their ideas for their hair has amped the ante a bit.

The oldest has hair the texture and color of straw. A hay fork is needed to keep it combed and a buzz cut replaced his bowl cut several years ago, making us all wonder why we'd worried over the double whorl and cowlicks for so long. Last haircut he and his dad had a misunderstanding about "the look," and it was a day or two before things got worked out with another run through of the clippers. I think his options are limited with that thick crop on his head.

The middle guy has hair curly enough to make my curliest curly perms look like a straight iron attacked me. He used to take the buzz cuts too. Until he saw the new Karate Kid movie and decided he might like something a bit different. He has now embarked on "growing it out."

I can hear the whole chorus of you girls who have gone through such trial and know the pain of time it takes to "grow hair." Right now his hair is simply big and tall without much shape other than curly big and tall. But he likes it so far. Last night I gave him a bottle of curly hair shampoo and conditioner and schooled him on its magic. We'll see what happens.

I'm trying to remember that I'm still not having to do hair. I'm merely watching these two teens decide how they will do it. In the scheme of things, our goal is that they are well-mannered and well-groomed. Sometimes that means the well-groomed look is a bit, er, unique. But that's okay, because I'm not having to do the hair.


  1. I'm her own big Barbie fashion head!!! HAHAHAHA!!! Awesome!!

    I've watched my now 18 year old nephew go through hair drama rivaling any girl for the last 6 years or so. Boys can be really serious about their hair. It's OK as long as I can see their face.

  2. Oh my, can I ever relate to this! I always hated my own hair. It is fine and straight and while I have a lot of it, it does nothing! I used to perm as well, but I decided to go with what I have.

    Our house is obsessed with hair. My daughter has unruly, curly hair which she has obsessed over and my 19 year old son has long, wavy blond hair (down to his shoulders) and he uses a flat iron it daily. He's worse than his sister ever was. I hope he'll cut it some day. If he grew it out a bit more, he could give it for cancer patients, and whoever got it would have nice hair!

  3. It has been a while since I've been able to comment. For whatever reason (I don't do computers) blogger wouldn't let me leave a comment on your posts. They just kicked me out. Well somehow somewhere the issue is now fixed and I can comment again. I also don't do hair. I just go to the hairdresser and tell her to do something to it so I won't have to fuss with it. I'm glad you came to peace with your hair :0)