I’ve noticed a general melancholy pervades my blog, which is fine, because that’s my life sometimes– and especially my p.o.v. when I’m reflecting about autism, but I’d like to step away for a moment and address another important part of being a grown-up, being a feminist, and being an autism mom: my hair.
Ha! Interested yet? You should be.
I don’t wear my emotions on my sleeve, I wear them in my hair.
In general, I ebb and flow between good hair and wild-woman hair. I read recently that supermodel Giselle Bundchen doesn’t even brush her hair (side note: which is much less disturbing then when I read that Jessica Simpson rarely brushes her teeth…ewww),and I found in that an ounce of solace. I have this sort of thick, wavy hair that frizzes in rain and can flip out when it’s feeling sassy. I use my flat-iron so little that I don’t even know where it is and my hair dryer is so old that it now blows out only cold air.
My thing in college and pre-kids was to drink with friends and then chop off my hair and offer to cut other people’s. (which resulted in one of my college friends have to wear a hat all semester log to cover the unevenness that too many screwdrivers and pair of scissors wrought).
But Jamie, you protest, your hair looks bombin’ on your webpage!
Of course it does, I reply mischievously, because I only ever take professional photos the minute after I get home from the salon.
So, now you know my secret– I usually have not-so-good, pretty-bad hair (and all my son’s therapists have gorgeous sleek hair that makes me go, sheesh, who has time for hot rollers at 6 am? Not this autism mommy)
Does this good hair matter? I’d like to think no, since I identify as a modern woman in charge of her desires, but the truth is, when I look put together, I feel more put together.
Much more to say here, but let’s just consider one more fact of my hair: my best friend bought me gift cards to my local salon 3 months in advance because she just knew I’d get into a mood and cut off all my hair (has happened 3 times in the last 3 years) or decide to home bleach it again (twice this year).
So, yes, maybe I have a problem.
But, hey, if bad hair is all that people are staring at me for as I grocery shop with my autistic preschooler and my loud-loud-loud toddler, that’s fine with me.
Tell me more to readers: at the end of the day or the beginning- is good hair worth worrying about?
Also, here’s the before/after shots of my most recent adventure with home bleach kits…
