"Hairy" Situations

Yes, I'm still here. It's not that there are no new things to blog about; it's that there are too many new things to stop and blog about them.

Two of the funniest (and humbling) things that have happened recently have to do with hair.

I am a 34 year old with significant amounts of gray hair. And by significant I mean more than my mother-in-law who is . . . well, I won't tell you how old she is. I have been graying since my freshman year of college and although I like to pretend that it makes me look wise, it really just makes me look like I'm babysitting my grandchildren instead of taking my own kids to the park.
So I've started coloring my hair recently. I was doing a half-way decent job until I decided to go a shade darker. (Yes, I hear you moaning) Anyway, I have since discovered that "black bordering on purple" hair does not look good with "olive bordering on yellow skin." Well, I spent Wednesday with Christine at Trade Secrets and she fixed it. It actually looks better than it has in years! (Hey, can I get a discount for a plug like this?)

Next hair story, actually more embarrassing than the first. Most of the time I give my boys haircuts (again "half-way decent job"), but occasionally we "splurge" and take them over to Glen, the singing barber. Glen's whole purpose for cutting hair is to hang out with his buddies. It's the closest thing to Floyd's barber shop that I have ever experienced. Therefore, Glen is intent on getting us in and out of there as quickly as possible. That leaves us with one of two options: 1) he'll shave them bald, or 2) I'll have to fix all the spots he missed when we get home. So before Christmas, Matt took the boys to Glen while I was getting ready for all the relatives. And as usual I grabbed the scissors to trim the spots that were missed when they got home. What was unusual this time was that Noah had no missed spots. It was a perfect hair cut - for about 4 days.

Later that week we went to lunch at a restaurant and there it was - the missed spot. Why I didn't see it earlier I will never know, but Noah kept pushing a section of 4-inch long bangs out of his face while he tried to eat. I tried repositioning it, combing it over, combing it back, but nothing worked. I felt for him. He kept scratching his nose because it tickled. I didn't have anything that would work - no scissors, nail clippers, nothing. So I did what any loving mother (who is a true hick) would do. I glanced around to make sure no one was looking at us, held his hair in one hand and grabbed a steak knife with the other and before you could say "What is that crazy lady doing with a knife?!" I cut his bangs. Well, Noah was grateful although everyone else at the table was quite shocked.

Yeah, I don't expect any tea invitations after this!