Last night, I spent quite a while looking back through photos of me over the last three years. Not because I entirely enjoy seeing myself in photos. I honestly despise a lot of them. My skin is blotchy, my weight see-saws between Hot Mama and "crap, another pair of pants I can't breathe in." And I have made a few (well....more than a few) really heinous fashion faux-pas over the years. I am frequently Ann Hathaway from The Devil Wears Prada before her Stanley Tucci makeover, sans the onion bagel.
But I was looking back through these pictures because I'm cutting my hair off today for the first time in about three years. Three years ago, my darling husband asked me to grow out my hair so he could see what it looked like long. Because then it was really short.
So I did. I kinda wanted to see it, too.
So it grew.
And it grew.
And it grew.
Until now it is longer than my hair has ever been in my life. But you know what I discovered?
Long hair is a lot of work! At least mine is.
It gets tangled. Massive "oh my gosh I'm going to be bald when I get out of this shower" tangles.
It takes FOREVER to dry. (I once dried my hair part way in the morning, put it in a braid at some point in the afternoon, slept in the braid, and when I took my hair down in the morning, parts of it were still wet! Seriously?
It's impossible (for me) to style. The last trim I got was six months ago and the girl that blow-dried my hair did a magnificent job. It was straight and neat, and curled up at the ends just the right way. I watched her very carefully to see how she did it so I could do it at home. When I mentioned that to her, she said, "Oh, I don't think you could ever do this at home. Your hair is too long and thick and you can't really reach the back."
It was also the first hair cut I'd ever had where I had to stand up because the chair got in the way. And that was six months ago!
But I digress...I was talking about photos. Those three years of photos (of me) reminded me of a lot of wonderful things that happened during that time. And I can remember when they happened in part because of how long my hair was.
When I looked at pictures of when I first started growing it out, I saw
pictures of Jordan lying with me on a gurney in the hospital when I had
my stroke.
Medium-length hair was the Christmas when we wore PJs to church because Christmas Day fell on a Sunday. It was also the Christmas when we, in a moment of total parental insanity, adopted three cats and one dog.
Medium-long was Sandy starting high school. (See Thelma back there in the driveway? Hi Thelma!) And it was being back in the hospital ... again.
And now it's long. Really-dang-long. And this was five months ago.
And after today ... it won't be. I still haven't decided how short it's going to get. You'll have to tune back in for that. But I never thought that something as simple as a haircut would cause me to shed tears over my family and how much we've done.
Wonder what we'll do while I grow it out again?
In the meantime, comment and let me know how short I should go.
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