I got my hair cut today. I was thinking I needed a change, but I didn’t actually go in today meaning to make a radical one. However, the more I thought about it and talked to my hairdresser, the more we thought maybe it was time to try something different, something shorter. I have this really coarse, really thick, really difficult hair. So we’re thinking try it short.
I think I like it, but it will definitely take some getting used to. Ask my daughter.
I had to go straight from the hairdresser’s to Rachel’s preschool, so I didn’t get to go home and mess around with the hair and make it look less....severe. I usually like my styling better, you know. Anyway, she almost wouldn’t come home with me. Her teacher said, “Rachel, your mom’s here,” and Rachel looked at me, eyes immediately filled with tears, and said, “You cut your hair.” Teacher looked up and said, “Oh, wow! You did! It looks cute!” Rachel said, “I don’t like it.” And proceeded to cry. Loudly. All. The. Way. Home. In the car, into the house, “Please put it back, grow it back, Mommy.” She wouldn’t even look at me. This is the child who, when her then-favorite toy, Pink Bear, lost its nose wouldn’t look at it and covered it up in a blanket for MONTHS, even after I glued the nose back on and you couldn’t tell it had ever come off. We have issues.
So. My hair is short. I think I like it. I think I’ll get used to it. I think my daughter will too. She’ll have to. It grows fast, but not that fast. Good thing I don't get all my self-esteem from the 5-year-old's opinion.
I think I’ll e-mail my husband and suggest he look at my blog before he comes home and tell him if he loves me at all, to please lie if he hates the hair. I can handle the rejection from the 5-year-old...I think. Honey, just lie.
Rachel did come in here to find out what I was doing and wanted to take a picture with me...so there's hope, right?