groundskeeping

it has always been a fight with my hair.  i remember the early mornings of teasing my blonde bangs before grade school.  my mother always seeming to be about 20 feet taller than me, pulling the shit out of the front of my hair.  i hated it.

it grew into butt-length hair in high school and the ever "fuck-you" chop off as soon as i went to college.  there never seems to be a middle ground in between.  just a glass of wine and a pair of scissors.

we have been short and long together.  in bobs and in "shark-tails" (whatever the hell that means).  i've had pin-up bangs and red and blue streaks, but i'm never happy.  always ready for a pair of scissors and a decent mirror.

i cut my hair last week.

see, my lovely friend E was going to come over last week, but per usual children have a tendency to get in the way.  I sat in front of the mirror and faced the unknown.  it was around 11pm--the only quiet time in my household.

CHOP.

I easily cut a good 6 inches off my hair, which was both exhilarating and panic-inducing, but once your start you can't stop.
So, I kept trimming and grooming and threw some bangs in the mix.  I hadn't had bangs since trin and i got together so it seemed fun at the time.

once i had cleaned my hair up into a nice little pile, i looked at myself. and looked at what motherhood had done to me.  my leg hairs had to be half an inch, my eyebrows looked as if they had crawled out of some dark underworld, and my hair was a blazing two-tone blonde.

i had a giant ring around the top of my head, a giant reminder of when motherhood got in the way.  dish water blonde at the top, whimsical light blonde on the bottom.

at this point it's 12AM and i text trin.

"Cut my own hair, need sun-in.. bring it home ASAP"

i sit afterward and slowly groom my eyebrows.  debating on the bushy thick "exotic" look or the pencil thin favorites of the 80's.  I decide to trim them thin, understanding I can never be one of those fancy-pants moms who use "brow powder" and lip liner. if I did I would just end up looking like some crappy Joan Rivers impersonator.. So i just go towards my natural arch.

I lather on some coconut oil afterwards and hop in the shower to groom my legs and bikini line.  my legs, which used to be covered in some fine blonde fur, are now coated in thick nasty black leg hair.  It reminds me of when I used to call my mom's legs "cacti." My bikini line looks like some nasty outskirts of the amazonian jungle.  I will just leave it as that.

I stare in the mirror and remember the hours of pouring over urban decay makeup, and deciding which color would match my urban outfitters dress.

I laugh out loud. no. I honestly swear to god laugh out loud. 

I look at the giant mass of black and red clothes in the corner, the summation of my work and "life" clothes thrown into one pile of black.  because black makes it easier. 

I think about Rae's hair and how perfect it is.  and how much she hates it but how much I love those brown curly locks.   and I think about how she never thinks about them just as I didn't think of my own hair or brows after motherhood.

what a wonderful neglectful life my hair and myself had. now somehow I am thrown into the bustle of color and what can happen to brassy blonde hair.

I put on some music and finish up my all around grooming procedure. 

two days later I'm at work and co-worker E notices my haircut.

"dammit audra!! it's crooked! why didn't you wait?"

"I couldn't" I reply, "I'm just always confused so I'll just stand with my head cocked."

she asks if I finally did my eyebrows and is jovial in my response. 

I feel the long leg hairs under my black slacks and feel a little smug. 

that's my little secret.