Spectrummy Mummy

Asperger's, Allergies, and Adventures Abroad

Posts Tagged ‘Hairstyle


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I got my hair cut in a hair salon on Saturday.  I hadn’t done that in over a year. I’ve been doing it myself at home to save time and money, two rare commodities in our house.  But my in-laws had given me some money for my birthday with the caveat that I had to spend it on me.  So I did.

I told the stylist that I have no time for maintenance, can’t afford expensive products, and need to be able to tie it up when I can no longer stand the kids touching it.  She did exactly as told, chopping away at my mane, but demonstrating that it was still long enough for a pony tail.

She asked if I wanted it to be blow-dried.  I did.  Spectrummy Daddy had the kids at the play area, so I could relish every second of every minute of my down time.  Somebody else pampering me?  Yes, please.

She worked away with her many magical potions and hairdryer and straighteners until she was satisfied with the end result.  It was sleek, shiny and sophisticated.

I loved it.  I looked completely different.  Glamorous, stylish, poised and perfect.  I haven’t looked so good in years.  I looked like Somebody.

I hated it.  Because I knew there was NO way it could last.  I don’t have the time or the energy to keep it looking so good.  I barely have the time to shower, let alone make that kind of effort.  I can’t even have straighteners or curling irons in the house with my kids. As I looked into the mirror, I saw everything I’m not.  My life is not glamorous, stylish, poised or perfect.  At all.

Spectrummy Daddy loved it.  Even the kids liked it, though they always like my hair, so they don’t count.  Still, I got a “pretty mummy” again from Pudding.

I decided I needed photos of me with The Hair before it lost its magic, so we got one while we were at a park that afternoon.  When we went in different directions with the kids, he had to really search for me – I looked so different.

Who is this?

I refused to wash it the next day, and The Hair managed to hold on through Sunday.  It still felt so soft to the touch.  I enjoyed my last day with it, knowing that it would need to go by the next day.  Every time I passed a mirror, I had to peer in.  Not  just because I was vain, but because I wasn’t used to this new me.

Finally, on Monday I washed it.  I’d been reading and reacting to the news all morning, and was late getting Pudding ready for school.  There was no time to do anything with my hair, but leave it.  I threw on some clothes to put Pudding on the bus.

I intended to go straight upstairs to finish the hair, but Cubby asked me to play, so I did.  I’d forgotten about my hair until later as we cuddled before naptime, and  he sneaked his fingers in and twirled a lock.

So now The Hair is just back to being hair.  Not glamourous, stylish, poised or perfect.  Dishevelled and mussed-up from playing, rushing around, and comforting.  Someone who knows there are more important things than perfection.  The hair of somebody very important.


This is who I am.

Written by Spectrummy Mummy

May 5, 2011 at 6:45 am