The hair saga. For the past five years it's been a constant presence. A task that required scheduling. Daily maintenance and then an entire evening for a new 'do.
And the drama. Dear me, the drama! The "You are pulling too hard", "Can't you straighten it?", and finally, the always dramatic final sigh after seeing the finished product. Never pleased with the curly gift with which God has blessed her. Never.
I'm not much better--too thin, too straight, too wispy...but this isn't about me, is it?
Dear hubby has been a bystander for all of these years. He's watched the dramatic hair dos unfold. He's had to manage things on his own when I've been out of town. He's made frantic phone calls after a night without the sleep cap, "The kids and I have a picnic with my boss and this hair is a mess!"
A few years ago he started in on, "Cut it short. It was so cute. Your life will be easier. She will look great."
I ignored him. So did she. Neither of us thought it would be a good idea. I, personally, was afraid of how other moms would judge me. Incapable of doing my daughter's hair equals incapable of raising my children properly. I'm serious.
I never thought hair would play any role in the relationship I have with my children. That was years ago. We were in the middle of a domestic adoption. We had a birth mom who was interested in our family--we were thrilled. On a phone interview she asked about hair.
Silence.
Seth finally answered, "We will figure something out. It's not like we will let our child walk around without their hair being taken care of."
And that was the last we heard from her.
We were so clueless. I was flabbergasted that hair was actually a big deal. Like, duh, wash it, dry it, braid it. How hard is that? I have three sisters. I've done hair.
Yeah, right. I was clueless. After we brought Sally home, I checked out every book on African American hair from the library. I bought cheap products. I bought expensive products. I listened to the lady in the elevator who suggested one shampoo and then changed when the hair blog I read said to try something else. I was all over the place. So was her hair.
Recently, we've got it under control. There were still days that she left the house looking like Don King. Usually, she looked pretty good. Then a few days would pass and she wouldn't put coconut oil on her hair and the braids would get frizzy. I'd undo them and put in twists, which she hates. Then we would undo those and wash. The bathroom would look like an afro exploded from all of the hair everywhere. Nuts.
One night, late, I needed to wash her hair and Seth brought up The Cut again. His coworker 'looks great' with this short style. He brought up some pictures on Google. I was won over and, oddly, so was Sally.
I could have knitted a king sized quilt from the amount of hair we cut. Wow.
She looks beautiful. I'm biased, but I think this little trim was a success in every way.
