I got my hair cut!
This is old news for those of you who are friends with me on Facebook, so, sorry to be redundant. But seriously. This is way more exciting than the puppy. And if I do say so, cuter than my boys. Excuse the grainy photobooth pic and the tired, post-work, post-supper, almost-bedtime eyes. My hair is short!
I have been growing my hair out for a year, maybe longer. I wanted a change and I wanted to donate it again to Pantene's Beautiful Lengths programs, which does wigs for adults. Partly, I like the charity. Mostly, I just really loved the instant attitude lift of chopping off that much hair in one fell swoop. The first time I donated, in 2006 after my wedding, I was sassy for weeks afterward.
So, I grew my hair long. Some days I liked it. I felt feminine. Being able to pull it into a ponytail or bun felt freeing and easy. I liked tickling my boys' faces with it. I used it as a worrying tool, twisting it and stroking it across my face -- often without even realizing I was doing it, which got embarrassing at work. And that was the thing: I never felt like a grown up with long hair. I am not and never will be someone who has the patience or talent to do my hair, so mostly my hair just hung. And my hair is naturally wavy -- that picture up there? the only thing I did to my hair today was blowdry it -- and that's great for the weekend, but with work clothes, I just felt unkempt. I felt like my hair, my flyaway mussy hair, was the only thing anyone was seeing of me.
I'm going next week to the Blathering and it was making me a little ill to be meeting so many people for the first time with my hair long. That's not really me. The real me is the girl with the short hair cut. When my hair is short, I feel pretty. I feel feisty and smart and ready to talk to anyone (to argue with anyone!) and do whatever. I said I felt feminine with long hair and that's true to a point. I felt like I looked like a woman is supposed to look -- but just any woman, a generic woman. With short hair, I am in touch with my own femininity. I like the curve of my neck and the shape of my face. I feel more put together and chic. I feel like you can see the shape of my bones and the light in my eyes.
Anyone who knows me, knows this is true and they've been nothing but happy about the cut. But people I just know casually are funny. "You got your haircut," they say. "Do you like it?"
I found my hairstylist randomly, when I did the first donation. Mine was the first hair she chopped off and she was nearly crying when she did it, scared to death that I was going to bawl. When I walked into the salon Saturday, I expected to just get a trim. I didn't think my hair was long enough to donate. But Steph pulled out the measuring tape and before I knew it, I had five ponytails in my hair, each nearly a foot long, and she was snipping them right off. Her assistant looked on, terrified.
"Don't worry," Steph said. "Hillary's not a crier."
When she handed me the hair, I looked at it and laughed.
And when I got home, The Lad said, "Momma pitty (pretty)." My day couldn't have gotten any better.