Here's the problem (okay, here's the current problem that I'm pondering) - I don't care about cooking, recipes, clothes, shopping or personal beauty beyond the basics. I know. Someone kick me off of the blogosphere right this instant. I think I may have just alienated 85% of the women in the world. Don't misunderstand; I care about personal hygiene and I like to look pretty as much as the next girl, but not enough to take it to the next level. The level where you semi-sort-of have to know what you're doing. Teeth brushed regularly? Yes. Lipstick? No. My hair can look gorgeous. It truly can. When my hair stylist blows it out and puts various expensive products in it. However - despite the fact that I love the confidence and ego boost that feeling great about my hair gives me - I've had the same hair style for ELEVEN years and I have bought no tools - NOT ONE SINGLE SOLITARY TOOL - and made not one iota of progress (not even a sliver of an iota) toward learning to make it look gorgeous myself.
Every six weeks I get my hair done and then I wear it down for seven days (I have crazy thick hair) and then I put it back up in a pony tail for five weeks and then I get it done again. Sometimes, I look in the mirror and know I could look better - but it doesn't affect me strongly. Does that make sense? I don't feel sad or even irritated enough to buy a hair dryer. Or a brush. Do not own. You see? Hopeless.
Enter my daughter. She's gorgeous without any help from me. But I want her to feel like I feel when I get my hair done all the time. I don't want to emphasize looks too much. It's a fact, however, that when you feel good about the reflection you see - as a package - confident, with pride in your accomplishments, kindness and security and love, and a healthy liking of the way you look - it makes a difference.
I know it makes a difference because tonight I will run my very first rehearsal of my very first production. LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER Spokane 2011. (I can not wait. I'm so excited. I know the cast is going to be speechless when they realize how awesome the show is as a whole.) Elise and I will lead eleven astonishingly talented women through a hell of an experience. And I will be good at it. But I will get my damn hair done first. Because how I look makes a difference in how I feel.
I want that for my daughter day to day. So I have to face the fact that she looks better, her hair looks better, when it's braided in 25-30 tiny braids. Confession of a selfish, busy, happy, wonderful mother - I hate doing hair. I hate doing my own damn hair and Saige's hair is ... hard. It takes me two hours or more. She whines. My arthritic fingers hurt. She cries. I get peckish. The other children wreak havoc on my house. It is really, really hard to intervene in havoc wreaking when one's hands are covered in hair grease. She whines some more. I drop tiny beads everywhere. We all whine together.
I'm basically whining at you right now.
Still, I persevere. And I pray - oh MY GOD DO I PRAY, I PRAY EVERY SINGLE DAY (brief song interlude brought to you by my endless crap pop knowledge) - that she'll have a best friend in high school who knows how to braid. That way, they can do each other's hair. Please. Pleasepleaseprettyplease.
Three hours and a lot of whining worth of work. On all our parts. My hair looks fabulous too (because I paid someone to make it so), but you'll have to trust me on that because I can not take a non-ugly picture of myself to save my life. Wish us all luck tonight!
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