Hair It Is!

About a year ago, I decided to grow my hair long. I’m not sure why. It’s Hair braidingnot as if I’d been pining away for long hair. Seems like one morning I woke up and noticed my short style was overgrown a bit and I could pull it back into a semi-ponytail and that started me thinking, “Why not?” Since then, I’ve kept it a bit longer than shoulder-length and have happily been stocking up on stretchy ponytail ties, headbands and baseball caps. Everybody likes it long — at least, that’s what they tell me. Of course, I’ve now fallen into the long-hair trap of having big dreams (“I’m going to curl my hair today!” “I think I’ll do loose beachy waves this morning!”) that go nowhere and I usually just try to brush it in the morning and then hastily pull it up by afternoon. However, when Younger Daughter is around, her natural hair skills makeHair styles her itch to try something new. It’s a well-known fact I personally have no natural hair skills whatsoever. Anytime my hair looks good, it’s a pure accident that I never can replicate. Both of my daughters, however, have a) beautiful hair and b) strong hair skills — developed in their style-deprived childhoods by desperate self-defense. Older Daughter is too busy with The Best and Brightest and Most Wonderful Grandsons in the World to worry about her mom’s hair so lately it’s been Younger Daughter who tilts her head and gets a look in her eyes and says, “Do you mind if I just … ?” Reminds me of a) when I was little and my mom let me help put her hair-rollers in (that’s early 1960s talk!) and b) when my daughters and their friends would hold all-day hair sessions in my bathroom for prom, senior photos, coronation and other Major High-School Events. And since it’s another well-known fact that my senior class (’75) virtuously donated its prom money to charity and thus I never had prom hair, I’ll take it every chance I can 40 years later.


BellydancingToday is the 25th birthday of my older daughter, Lizzy Jane. Brushing teethShe had the bad luck to be born first, so I got to practice all my non-maternal skills on her. Luckily, she proved to be resilient, smart and independent and thrived no matter how many stupid mistakes I made. (Who knew rocking babies to sleep every night — three Playgroundsor four times every night — and letting them drink apple juice all day was bad for them???) Today, she is such a loving mom to my 13-month-old grandson, Capt. Adorable, that I constantly am in awe of her parenting skills. No protracted, drawn-out, miserable bedtimes for her! She also is a talented dancer and performer, as well as a teacher and budding choreographer. Plus, she’s the best money-manager I know — she can come out of a grocery store with a week’s worth of tasty and nutritious meals on less money than most people spend on a pair of new shoes. (Not that I myself have any personal knowledge of blowing the budget on gotta-have shoes, you understand. Because that would be wrong.)  I have no idea where she learned all this — books? magazines? Dave Ramsey? — but I do know that I am incredibly proud to be her mom. Happy 25th birthday, Lizzy Jane!