I got my hair cut last week. It was already short, but now it’s really, really short. Matthew came home from school and actually took my head in his hands and said, “Wow, Mom, you’re getting really white on there!”
The idea was to get rid of my colored hair and go to my natural gray. I highlighted to blend the gray in my twenties, and I’ve been covering it entirely since my early thirties. It’s a lot of mess and stains on my bathtowels, and truthfully, I never liked it dyed anyway. It wasn’t supposed to turn out that brassy red, but it always did, no matter what was on the box. Light brown, medium brown, Almond Rocca, auburn, red. In direct sunlight, it was blinding. And I was beginning to react to the color, itching, burning, and forming the occasional welt on my head. Not a good thing in the long run.
And I’ve never been afraid of my age, so why not? Some have told me I’m too young to have gray hair. Apparently God disagrees! Maybe it’s just because I’m the youngest sibling, and that means I’ll always be younger than SOMEONE. But getting older isn’t something I obsess about.
I will grow it out again, just to make it easier to distinguish me from my brothers. For now, I’ll enjoy rubbing a little paste in it and skipping the hair dryer and round brush. My only regret is not doing this in the summer. My ears are cold!
I’ll take a pic here soon. Sergeant Carter’s looking pretty familiar.