Mom Hair

Over the weekend I went to a salon for my once-every-18 months-professional haircut. Because it's a momentous occasion that doesn't even occur annually, I decided to do some big girl research.

At first I tried to figure out my face shape. I was mildly successful. I'm either round, oval, or square. Every few minutes I am positive I am one of those three.

Then I uploaded an awkward non-smiling picture of myself to some ridiculous hairstyle website. It advertised its amazing skills in helping you decide on a new hairdo or hairdon't. Unfortunately, most options were drag-queen-esque and I looked horrendous in every style.

So I decided to take a different route and look at some old photographs of my past hairstyles. I concluded one thing, I need a face-plant. Or maybe just a forehead transplant. Or maybe just no short hair and that I need to cover my Tyra Banks forehead. Or my Christina Ricci forehead.

Tyra, sans makeup. So what if my favorite hobby is seeing celebrities without makeup.

Enter scene: Tara, the sweetie-pie hair cutting extraordin-hair. She was sure that I did not have a ginormous forehead. hmmmm. Thanks Tara. This put me on the fence about bangs.

"Just cut the rest of my hair and at the end, I'll decide about the bangs" I told her foolishly.

Because I was crossing my fingers for a face-plant type transformation, when I saw the finished product of the bland haircut, I was disappointed. I thought it was going to be more extreme makeover-ish. I thought bangs would solve my face problem.

So I made a sort of desperate decision to go for the bangs. And not just any bangs. Wispy bangs? Wispy, that's right.

Then as I watched those scissors heading toward my giant forehead, I found myself screaming on the inside no! no! not my bangs! NOT MY BANGS!!! too late.

What was I thinking? I just took a year and a half to grow them out because they annoy me. And then ooops I did it it again. I left my haircut feeling confused.

When I got home Davy awoke from her a nap, took one look at me and seriously cried for Daddy. He was gone and she cried and cried. I tried to explain to her that it was me, Mommy, and that I got a haircut. I thought she must just be groggy from her nap. Probably a fluke.

Then I saw my sweet niece later that night. She had no idea who I was. Usually she is excited to see me. She looked at me with fear in her eyes.

Then our friend little Maggie didn't know who I was either and called me her Mommy's friend. I was a stranger to her.

party time. excellent hair.

Maybe the faceplant worked in the worst way possible. At this point I was pretty sure I looked like Quasimoto.

Have no fear, Mother to the rescue. To bolster my confidence, when my mother saw me post-haircut she said lovingly, "Awwwww you look like a little girl." Ummm ok. Not exactly the look I was going for Mom. Ugly little girl. Then she tried desperately to redeem herself after noticing my face sink, by saying "I mean you look like a movie star." Wow. Now that was super convincing. Oh well. I guess I'll get used to the little girly bangs. And get used to more people thinking I would have been a perfect candidate for the show 16 and Pregnant.

I don't think it's a coincidence that another definition of bang is explosion or crash. These bangs are a disaster.

Oh well. It doesn't matter what other people think and say about my bangs. What really matters is what I see when I accidentally catch my reflection in the mirror as I wash my hands, and that is...Wayne from Wayne's World. He's not exactly my style icon and for whatever reason I forgot that when I have bangs we look like twins.  He's not that bad looking, right?

Party time. Excellent.