I am attempting to grow out my hair. The struggle is real, y'all. I did this several years ago when Olivia was a wee little thing and, surprisingly, made it pretty far. But if I remember correctly, the hot and humid weather hit, and I couldn't chop that fuzzy fro off my head fast enough.
So, this time, I invested in a new tool to help with the grow-out process--a fat barrel curling iron. Man, I haven't had one of these since high school...wait...Jr. high? Yikes! This puppy gets up to 450 degrees and does wonders for frying my hair into submission. "If I don't have your respect, I will have your obedience." Doug Stamper. House of Cards. Watch it.
Kevin warned me a few days ago that he thought I was taking way too hot of a shower. He said he could smell my skin cooking. Nope. Not my skin, I said. That's the smell of my burnt locks being shampooed out.
Davis took this picture. In the bathroom. Me and my fat barrel curling iron. Lawd only knows why.
So, the other day, I'm curling away (and sweating, I might add, because I have a 450 degree iron a mere centimeters away from my head) and I had achieved fat, perfectly symmetrical ringlets around my head (this is pre-finger-comb so as to give the ringlets that I-just-woke-up-with-these-flawless-tousled-relaxed-curls but post application of my new BFF Nexxus Frizz Defy Creme. Thank you SC and Amazon Prime for making this birthday purchase possible) when Olivia walks in to announce, "Mommy, you look old like that."
Just when I thought I was getting on board with a hair trend, my oldest child glides right in to throw a big piece of doodie pie in my face. "Girl, I had to SWEAT to look like this!"
Little does she know she has my hair, and her struggle will too be real all the days of her life.
On a somewhat related note, Davis has experienced some recent hair struggles.
Olivia wanted to use my hairdryer after getting out of the pool. Harmless enough, right?
Well, apparently one thing led to another which led to these two little people playing salon. A slamming bathroom door followed by the "click" of the lock clued me in that *something* was up. I demand to be let in only to find Davis sitting in a kiddie chair with little clumps of hair all around and Olivia (eyes wide as saucers) with scissors in one hand and a clump of hair in the other. The thought, "Well, it was bound to happen," flashed across my mind. I mustered all the seriousness I could while laughing at the same time. Olivia had given her brother a hair cut!
In Olivia's defense, Davis was way past due on a hair cut. He truly did need one. She took a good bit off his crown, feathered his "bangs" and gave him a pretty good hack to the scalp on one side. The funniest part was how serious Davis was about this hair cut. It was all perfectly legit in his mind. As I laughed and told Olivia she couldn't cut on Davis' hair, D was all, "Noooooooooooooo! Yaaaa-Deeeeee's cutting my hair!"
A recent conversation with my son...
Me: Davis, you're a HOT mess. Your face is dirty. Your shirt is dirty. Your shorts are dirty. Your feet are dirty! It really is true what they say...boys are just noise with dirt rubbed on it.
Davis: (as he points to the moles/freckles on my legs) Weeeelllllll.....you have dots on you.
Boom. More doodie pie.
I have some pet peeves. Yep. Some things that will leave me yelling all crazy eyed. One such pet peeve--someone/something undoing what I've just done. Whoa. Makes me want to destroy someone/something!
So here's Bailey...undoing all my clean and sorted and folded laundry. Just rubbing his stank and dog hair all over it. DANG DOG!
I love him, tho. Dang it.
I mean, do you have to lay on the clean clothes?
No respect. Why do I even try?
Yesterday I took my noise with dirt rubbed on it to get a proper hair cut. Hair cuts rule b/c you get a lollipop! Can this count as breakfast?
I spy a Superman curl in the works...(*I wanna be like Daddy!*)
Speaking of Daddy...Kev informed me last night that I was raising a redneck. I was all, "Rednecks are my people, and I love them. Dang it!"
All because Davis announced, "Eye-ya. Wanna. Ride. Uh......Piiiiiiiiiiig!"
If my 36 year old self told my 26 year old self this would be my life in 10 years I'd be in horrified disbelief! But life is wonderfully crazy like that.