Saturday, February 12, 2011


I'm about to turn the big 8.  Wait, not that's not right.  Three-five.  Thirty-five.  Right, yes, moving on.  I'm going to turn 35 in a few days, and I'm having a rough go of it.  By rough go, I mean, last Sunday I cried intermittently for 3 hours while children and a husband randomly brought me juice, their special soft blankies, cookies, a binky, and Valentines trying to cheer me up.

Also, I grow my hair for charity.  Actually, I do not grow my hair for charity.  I cut my hair for charity (Pantene Beautiful Lengths).  I've done it twice before (October 2006, November 2008).  Since the last time it got whacked two years ago, my hair has been getting longer and stragglier and stringier.  I've been dying to cut it.  I went to the hair cutting place (beauty shop?) around Halloween, and they told me if they cut 8" off, I could get something in a spikey butch soccer mom.  As I was already having an "I'm an unattractive mother" existential crisis, I opted to wait and let it grow out a while longer.

In the meantime, it got stringier and tanglier and darker.  I'm blonde (mostly naturally) but in the winter, my highlights disappear with the new growth. So, usually, in the winter, I highlight.  Except my long hair was too long to pull through a cap and frost/tip.  It was sad-making.

Finally, today I said enough is enough.  I am cutting my hair and no matter how short they have to make it, it is going.  So, I went.  Here is me before.  Note I am not wearing my good flannel for going to the beauty shop.  I wore the shirt with the hair dye stains. (side note:  I didn't wear a coat because it was a balmy 34 degrees here today, and I did run since I am "training" for the Shamrock Shuffle 8k. This photo was taken post-run, pre-shower.)

When I got home, of course, I noticed that all the blonde parts had been cut off, so I immediately set about pulling my hair through a vinyl bonnet and putting two-part bleach on my hair.  Once it turned the appealing shade of dried straw, I washed the bleach out, tossed some super-hold mousse in and voila.  After:

It's not so bad. By the time this picture was taken, it was late. Wine had been consumed. And cake. I'm ready for bed, but mostly, I think it turned out OK. All told, they cut off about 10" of hair. So, it could be worse.

In case you don't find me to be one-hot-mama though, I am including a picture of the cute.  This is Bobo with two binkies in his mouth (and I cannot for the life of me figure out how to rotate this photo here (I could've done it before uploading but could've should've)).

And here's a picture of us digging ourselves out after Snotorious B.I.G. on Groundhog Day.  23" in 24 hours they say.  23".  Not too shabby.

Lastly, here is one of the cakes I made for Super Bowl.  I'm not a pro, so this can't go to Cake Wrecks.  And why would it?  Everything is spelled correctly and there is not a single sprinkle, baby butt, edible photo paper, or creepy guy on a bearskin rug. 

Goodnight old lady whispering "hush".


  1. Hi. I just realized Bobo is not wearing pants in his two binky photo. I'm going to say that's OK and full of propriety and decorum. I mean, it's good enough for the internet.

  2. 35? Ha, that's nothing. I turn 39 this year.

    I had my 35th birthday approximately 6 weeks after Pumpkin was born. Let's just say it wasn't the most joyfully celebrated birthday. OK, let's say that I barely remember it.

    Anyway, 39 is freaking me out a bit, but since I live in the land of the winter sun, I probably won't have to resort to dying my hair. I do remember how dark my hair got in the winter in Chicago. And how it was always full of static electricity. Good times.

    Happy birthday! I like your new hair do. And a diaper is totally clothes enough for a baby picture on your blog. Totally.

  3. Two things: One, your haircut is just about perfect for you! Two, thank you for your comments on my career lament at Ask Moxie. I've been trying to put on a happy face publicly so it felt good to let it all out, and even better to get a response.