I am a 38yo wife, mother, friend & sister. I have been married for 17 years, and I have two children: Music (formerly Karate Kid) my 14yo son, and Drama Queen, my 12yo daughter.
When The Hubster and I met, he had quite the hairdo. Remember Guy Smiley from Sesame Street? Same hair. The Hubster's even looked plastic. He put so much hairspray on it, if the wind blew, he had a whole hair flap thing that would stand straight up and then lay right back down, every hair still in place. Since he was/is so very vain, I never, no never, saw him without his hair perfectly coiffed. That is until...The Day.
On The Day, I was headed over to his house. I didn't show up early, but I caught him mowing the lawn. He had not had time to do his hair yet, so I literally did not recognize him at first. The only way I knew it was him was from his clothes. No longer Guy Smiley, he now was an official member of The Beatles. I could not even see his eyes.
His hairstyle has since transformed from Plastic Man to Barely There Man. He now gets his hair buzzed to about a quarter of an inch long. Here's the insane part: he puts gel in it every morning. And then wears a hard hat all day. And then comes home, showers again, and puts more gel in it. Every day.
For whatever reason, I chose to marry the man. I should have worried that my children would be born with snap-on plastic hair a la Mr. Potato Head. I guess I was counting on them inheriting my thick, beautiful and always perfectly styled hair. *snort* Okay, okay, thick hair then. What I didn't count on was my son inheriting my thick hair and his father's hairline. Think an "M." The poor child's hair has two spots right on either side of his forehead that sticks straight up. We buzz his hair just so he doesn't get beat up at school.
Drama Queen, on the other hand, is a whole different story. The ultrasound tech told us that the little things we saw floating back and forth like a sea anemone were hair. I didn't realize that meant Hair. The nurses had tied a piece of yarn in her hair and made a little bow when they cleaned her up and brought her to my room. I gave the child a haircut when she was four days old. She had the nickname Papoose for the first year of her life. She was adorable.
But, alas, she inherited her father's stick straight, thin hair. Once it gets past her shoulders, we start calling her Helen Keller. She looks like Annie Sullivan should be teaching her the sign for water as she primes the water pump.
She told me a few days ago that she wanted to wear sponge rollers to bed so she could have curls in her hair and wear a pretty dress to school. Since the last day of school is tomorrow, I bought some rollers last night and wound her up. I was dreading this morning because I knew it would turn into a crying fit of "It's too curly! I look like a dork!" until we brushed the curl out or washed her hair.
Steeling myself for the screams, I cautiously started to remove the rollers. I needn't have worried. Apparently her stick straight hair doesn't like to curl no matter what you put in it. She had the slightest wave in the bottom of her hair, which I think looked quite good. No crying over frizzy, scrunched up curls could be heard. Instead it was, "It didn't curl! It's all your fault, Mom. I told you they needed to be tighter!" (they did not).
I hope for her sake that straight hair is always fashionably in.
