I Heart You, Paul Mitchell

I've got a thing for hair.

Let me explain...

I LOVE to get my hair done!  I love to cut it, I love to color it.  I love to style it, I love having someone else style it.  (I ADORE the hot mama, Brooke, who does my hair!)  I like trying new things:  A flower clip.  A leopard print headband.  A pink hair extension in my bangs.  A new product.  I collect hair products the way little boys collect bugs (eeewww)--with vigor and fascination!  Much to McHubby's chagrin, I've got pomades, hair sprays, gels, and mousses.  I've got a sea salt spray for "volume and texture" and Moroccan oil for "anti-frizz."  I've got a spray wax to add an element of "funky" to my hairdo; another spray protects my hair from heat and humidity.  I've got goop for shine and goop for hold.  I own stock in Paul Mitchell.  (Okay...not really.)

I have had MANY hairstyles over the years.  In high school I rocked a hairstyle I affectionately refer to as "Baby-from-Dirty-Dancing-hair."  When I was fifteen, and at a conference for a church youth group, a much, MUCH older guy said to me, "Hey!  You look like Baby from Dirty Dancing."  He must have noticed my crest-fallen face after he said that (I wasn't sure if he was paying me a compliment...I mean, IS Baby cute?), because he quickly said, "And that's a good thing!"

(You know...now that I think of it, he WAS older.  Hindsight forces me to see the situation in a different light:  That dude might have been pervy.)

When I got to college, I started cutting and cutting and cutting my hair.  I started changing the color of it too.  (Actually, I started doing a lot of things:  wearing vintage thrift and hemp, burning incense, reading Eastern philosophy, not wearing much makeup, and listening to Cat Stevens.)

I dyed my hair various shades of red--strawberry, auburn, burgundy, mahogany.  I dyed my hair various shades of brown--caramel, mocha-choca-latte (ya ya), fudge brownie.  (YUM.)  I had blond hair.  I had black hair.  I even had purple hair.  I affectionately refer to that hairstyle as "Eggplant Hair."

How does one procure eggplant-colored hair?  Go to a salon and have your hair dyed a bad, bright red color--like a fire engine.  Be sure to leave the salon resembling Bozo the Clown.  Go home and have all your roommates pass-out from shock.  Tearfully return to the salon the next day and beg for a re-do.  A who lotta black hair dye later and...viola!  Eggplant.

When James and I started "hanging out," I was Eggplant Head.  When we started dating more seriously, my hair was a dark brown shade.  When we started making-out, it was highlighted.  When we fell hopelessly and madly and endlessly and passionately in love, it was blond.  When we got married, I was a redhead!  (Not like "Bozo the Clown"...thank goodness!)  My McMan has been with me through hair color depicting the spectrum of a rainbow.  That's love, baby.   

(Adorable side note:  When we were dating, James frequently commented on how good my hair smelled.  It was my curl enhancing mousse.  It reminded him of pina colada; hence his pet name for me:  Colada Hottie!)

Imagine my elation when my beautiful, precious baby girl was born with oodles and oodles of hair.  As we were checking out of the hospital, a nurse confided that she and some of the other nurses had been styling Lilly's hair during her intermittent stays in the nursery.  They were rolling it in their fingers, making curlicues on top of her head.  By the time Lilly was eight months old, I was doing her hair in little pigtails.  (And I had fully converted to the flat iron!) 

Fast forward several years to the birth of the Cam Man.  He had a nice sprinkling of baby hair when he was born, but it soon went "bye-bye" as he began to grow.  That little man's head is a cue ball, an onion.  He is a miniature version of Mr. Clean.  He is my lovable "buff and shine" baby.  And there is nothing wrong with that...we're just anxiously awaiting the growth of his hair!  (Comparable to the way Mama Leisha anxiously awaits her next hair appointments.)

Last night, something wonderful happened.  (That was the initial provocation for this "hairy" post.)  I discovered enough hair atop Cam's head to warrant a little styling.  Oh happy day!  I ran to my bathroom, threw open my cupboard, and dug out the wax and the mousse and the gel and the hairspray and the pomade.  Look at the masterpiece I created!

A PART!!!  THAT IS A PART, PEOPLE!!  A part, a part, a part!  Can you believe it??!  I'm so tickled I feel like singing and dancing!  Oh wait.  I can't do EITHER of those.

I guess I'll just go do my hair.