When I was about eight, I made a horrible dissension: I should get a perm. My father permed his hair so then it would be really curly and stick close to his head. And I wanted my hair like that, thinking I'd look like Shirley Temple or that tall, pretty girl with her naturally curly hair that looked amazing. I, being a girl who preferred to play outside and not get my hair brushed because we had a death brush that stabbed into my head like nails to my scalp, thought it would be low maintenance because my fathers was low maintenance. I was completely and utterly wrong.
My hair previously had a pretty wave to it; I did have bad 1980's bangs that on school picture days with more hairspray in it than it would have for the rest of the year. But perm on top of 80's bangs was a bad thing for a low maintenance girl. For the next year, my hair was frizzy. Poofed out by the death brush and tied into pony tails.
After my hair grew out and was cut back (which we even took pictures of at the salon, it was a momentous occasion), my hair was never the same. I slowly became a brunette instead of the dish-water blond I had been. Instead of the light wave I'd had that would work in curlers, it was still curly--though not as bad as the perm. I'd learned how to straighten it with the blow dryer and iron. I finally started figuring out that doing your hair, more than just a brush through it, in the morning was important for my self-esteem and that there were other things I could do with it on my own other than a ponytail at the nap of my neck.
In high school as I became aware of the hair products I could use, I would mousse my locks so then it would stay curly--though it was so stiff with the mousse and hairspray that it looked like I'd just stepped out of the shower even though it was dinner time and I'd just gotten home from school. My giant head band with long fabric tassels with my waterlogged hair was what I did my 10th grade year. Senior year I discovered hair dye. Stick straight hair with bleach blond high lights was everything even through the first few years of college.
All in all, I tried to keep my hair as maintenance free as I could while also giving me that bit of a self-esteem boost that girls crave for. If a girl has a bad hair day because it doesn't lay right, everything else seems to go wrong.
But now it seems my hair is still recovering. When I got pregnant, my hair was luscious, thick, and amazing! I could try anything and it worked. Hormones and pre-natal vitamins were the best. But then my son stole my curls, stole the thickness, and body that it once had. My body, as everyone's does, changed dramatically as well. It seemed to like keeping the fifty pounds I'd gained while my son was growing in me, so it stuck around. Right after he was born my hair was nearly stick straight and flat as could be. My mousse didn't work. Pony tails made my face look huge. And only rarely did I find that I actually liked my hair.
Everything always seemed to go wrong with it every time I had something important to go to, which wasn't necessarily often with a newborn/toddler/young child. I went to work, to school, and was home with family with hair: "done," make up: simple though sometimes with too colorful eye shadow, and often mismatched socks (though that was intentional).
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Quick side note: I remember one day in my fiction writing class and listening to the only high-maintenance girl in the class was complaining. I'm so glad I missed out on the roommate drama in college. Her super busy life with roommates and the drama that ensued from them, made her enable to finish all of her make up. The only thing she was able to put on was her foundation, eye liner, and mascara before she left the apartment for classes at eight. I turned to my friend who sat next to me, a mom, worker, and student like myself, and we both rolled our eyes. That is all I ever put on, I was thinking to myself. I could tell my friend did as well. We were lucky to be able to have the time to put foundation on. Some days it was eyeliner (if we were lucky), mascara, and a brush through into some kind of pony tail. Her's was the hair that was always braided in some intricate knot or with just the right amount of body to it. She looked great, even though she was rather annoying whenever she spoke which was normally a self-centered conversation.
She spent a lot of time completely on herself, on her hair, on her endless workout routines, and the boy and girl drama the surrounded her, that I don't think anyone really liked her in class; I know I didn't care for her.
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As my son has grown and now that I'm not in school anymore and work is only occasionally, I've let my hair do its own thing. I hop out of the shower and don't instantly go for my hair dryer and straightener. I, more often than not, skip the make up in general. Partially because of time and partially because my son doesn't care. He seems me as his loving mom. I dress up for my husband and for myself on occasion whenever we go out. He loves me with or without it on, with or without my hair done a certain way. It's interesting though, as I've cut his hair and his curls have faded slightly, I've gotten mine back. They're returning with time.
It's nice though, to have my hair work with me. It's not something I need now. My hair is becoming curly again like it was back in high school, slowly. The other day, I let my hair air dry and the parts the framed my face curled nicely without me having to touch it too much (the rest of my hair was flat or frizzy, but baby-steps; it'll get there). It'll be in its pony tail one day, curly the next, straight from the iron two weeks from now. Many ladies have one hair-do and one only, but what is the fun of that? Some days there seems to be almost no choice, while others you have the most choices in the world and pray that your hair works out the way I envisioned it.
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