OK, another risk. That is, a risk of sounding like a total wack-job mother (again). There is a good friend friend of mine, "Peg" who frequently utters the same phrase to me... "What's wrong with you?".
There are, I am sure, many things wrong with me. I probably do many things with/to my kids that most parents wouldn't think of. Waxing their eyebrows, piercing their little baby ears. I recently took Matt over state lines for his first tattoo (in my defense, I was potentially saving from him from getting a bootleg tat, or hepatitis from same basement hack)
Today, I did something I probablyshouldn't have. It was a "What is wrong with me?" kind of moment. I heard my friend, "Peg", loud and clear in my mind.
I'll take you back a couple of days, when Ava had been asking me to get a haircut. I have a weird thing about my girls hair....it is long, and beautiful, and the thought of cutting it makes me cringe. Last year, she wanted a bob cut...a notion I squashed instantly. Liza nearly made me suffer an honest to god stroke, when, in 2006, she lopped of an entire side of her hair.
I think I am living vicariously through their mane.
Back to the other day. I agreed as I will admit to being sick and tired of spending a good amount of time brushing her "after beach hair". The knots, the seaweed, the sand. Its disgusting. Picture an old time movie...the older wealthy woman sitting in her satin robe at her vanity. Maybe its her husband, her child, her foreign servant. Standing lovingly behind her, brushing her luxurious locks....100 strokes. This is not at all what goes on. Ava is screaming the entire time sure that I am pulling her hair out with each stroke. I may be...it's hard to tell between seaweed and hair sometimes.
I take her to a walk in chain salon (as I am also sick of paying $40 for a kids haircut). The woman holds up the ends of Ava's hair and tells me that about 6 inches off the bottom should be taken off, as it is dead. "Cut 6 inches off that kids hair, and YOU'LL be dead" I thought to myself. "No". I explained my adversity to cutting my girls hair and told her to throw in some long layers...the front could be shorter and angled to the base of her neck, and the back could have a "V" shape. About 15 minutes later she was done. No product, no dry, and $11. Perfecto Mundo.
It wasn't the best haircut, but I guess you get what you pay for. Ava, however, loved it. She stared at herself all day, and ran her hands through her hair over and over again. She must have asked me 1000 times if I liked her hair. I had to tell her if she asked again, I would put soap in her mouth. She never really cared about her hair before, and now...she asked for a couple of highlights. This is where the story begins.
Highlights. I thought, "why not". A couple of little blond streaks on the side of her face...its summer...no big deal. right? wrong.
I had purchased this highlighting kit....must have been years ago, because I have been a flat brown forever. It was a blond cap kit ( I don't know why I thought I could pull that off on myself in the first place)
I told Ava to get into an old shirt, and seat herself at the kitchen counter. I read the directions (read might be a bit strong...I skimmed the directions. mistake #1).
I thought to myself, eh...capped are so 80's..maybe early 90's. Foils are whats what. I opened the cupboard and whipped out the Reynolds Wrap. I cut strips from the roll and then cut again in half. I made a pony tail in the back of her head with the back and bottom portion of her hair as I had only planned on doing the top and sides of her head. I put on my plastic gloves, and mixed the powder and activation cream. There were two other tubes...that I somehow ignored.
I took sections of her long hair and as a hairstylist would, took the pointy end of a comb, and weaved through the hair so as to grab just the right amount of strandage.
Emma, at this point, decided to have a complete meltdown. She was screaming and tugging at my legs....it was never ending and a full out tantrum. Less I mention it was also 98 degrees in my house with 100% humidity. She was pulling on my sweatpants and making me very nervous. Naturally, I could not touch her due to the bleach mix covering my plastic hands. My pants fell to my ankles and I thanked God for 1. Nobody was over.. 2. I was wearing underwear 3. It provided heat relief. (It did, however, restrict my mobility for a bit)
I began to rush through the job as the baby required my attention. I finally finished. The box said to leave it on for 60 minutes. I went up to try and get Em a nap while the color "processed".
There are, I am sure, many things wrong with me. I probably do many things with/to my kids that most parents wouldn't think of. Waxing their eyebrows, piercing their little baby ears. I recently took Matt over state lines for his first tattoo (in my defense, I was potentially saving from him from getting a bootleg tat, or hepatitis from same basement hack)
Today, I did something I probably
I'll take you back a couple of days, when Ava had been asking me to get a haircut. I have a weird thing about my girls hair....it is long, and beautiful, and the thought of cutting it makes me cringe. Last year, she wanted a bob cut...a notion I squashed instantly. Liza nearly made me suffer an honest to god stroke, when, in 2006, she lopped of an entire side of her hair.
I think I am living vicariously through their mane.
Back to the other day. I agreed as I will admit to being sick and tired of spending a good amount of time brushing her "after beach hair". The knots, the seaweed, the sand. Its disgusting. Picture an old time movie...the older wealthy woman sitting in her satin robe at her vanity. Maybe its her husband, her child, her foreign servant. Standing lovingly behind her, brushing her luxurious locks....100 strokes. This is not at all what goes on. Ava is screaming the entire time sure that I am pulling her hair out with each stroke. I may be...it's hard to tell between seaweed and hair sometimes.
I take her to a walk in chain salon (as I am also sick of paying $40 for a kids haircut). The woman holds up the ends of Ava's hair and tells me that about 6 inches off the bottom should be taken off, as it is dead. "Cut 6 inches off that kids hair, and YOU'LL be dead" I thought to myself. "No". I explained my adversity to cutting my girls hair and told her to throw in some long layers...the front could be shorter and angled to the base of her neck, and the back could have a "V" shape. About 15 minutes later she was done. No product, no dry, and $11. Perfecto Mundo.
It wasn't the best haircut, but I guess you get what you pay for. Ava, however, loved it. She stared at herself all day, and ran her hands through her hair over and over again. She must have asked me 1000 times if I liked her hair. I had to tell her if she asked again, I would put soap in her mouth. She never really cared about her hair before, and now...she asked for a couple of highlights. This is where the story begins.
Highlights. I thought, "why not". A couple of little blond streaks on the side of her face...its summer...no big deal. right? wrong.
I had purchased this highlighting kit....must have been years ago, because I have been a flat brown forever. It was a blond cap kit ( I don't know why I thought I could pull that off on myself in the first place)
I told Ava to get into an old shirt, and seat herself at the kitchen counter. I read the directions (read might be a bit strong...I skimmed the directions. mistake #1).
I thought to myself, eh...capped are so 80's..maybe early 90's. Foils are whats what. I opened the cupboard and whipped out the Reynolds Wrap. I cut strips from the roll and then cut again in half. I made a pony tail in the back of her head with the back and bottom portion of her hair as I had only planned on doing the top and sides of her head. I put on my plastic gloves, and mixed the powder and activation cream. There were two other tubes...that I somehow ignored.
I took sections of her long hair and as a hairstylist would, took the pointy end of a comb, and weaved through the hair so as to grab just the right amount of strandage.
Emma, at this point, decided to have a complete meltdown. She was screaming and tugging at my legs....it was never ending and a full out tantrum. Less I mention it was also 98 degrees in my house with 100% humidity. She was pulling on my sweatpants and making me very nervous. Naturally, I could not touch her due to the bleach mix covering my plastic hands. My pants fell to my ankles and I thanked God for 1. Nobody was over.. 2. I was wearing underwear 3. It provided heat relief. (It did, however, restrict my mobility for a bit)
I began to rush through the job as the baby required my attention. I finally finished. The box said to leave it on for 60 minutes. I went up to try and get Em a nap while the color "processed".
About a half hour passed and Ava came up...I decided to check the inside of a foil. I don't know what I expected...but this was not it. I blurted "holy shit" and grabbed her and ran into the bathroom. I instructed her to take her clothes off and jump in the shower. First, we began feverishly ripping out the 11 foils. She yelled after each one. "I LOOK LIKE BRITTNEY SPEARS! "...."Actually, you look more like Britney Spears and Carrot Tops' lovechild...or daughter of Chucky and his bride."
Some chunks were orange...some white. She looked like children of the corn maze. Her hair was like straw. She quickly jumped into the shower. It looked better wet, and once the white mix was out we thought it might not be that bad. It was. It was bad.
After we had washed her hair, I blow dried it. She was blond...orange. Her left side wasn't bad. Her right side was clearly the side done during the pantsing.
Luckily, I had a dark brown color kit that I had planned on doing myself later that day. I told her we would fix it. I made her pull it into a pony tail and find the thickest headband she could find. As a consolation prize and apology, I took her and the girls to their first ever trip to Toys R Us. When we returned, she surprisingly flaunted her do all over the neighborhood. (which I felt happy that she liked being different, yet embarassed that I did this)
I was later able to dye her hair back to its original color with the exception of one stray, blond strand. It is her favorite strand of hair on her head, and she later came to me and stated" Mommy...I miss my blond hair". I dread the "carpet matching the drapes" talk.
And yet again, I ask her if she is happy that I am her mom...or would she rather have a "normal" mommy. She quickly answers that she has the most fun of anyone. Thanks, babe. And remember, $5 if you dont tell daddy.
No comments:
Post a Comment