Mom Hair

I am, not by a long shot, a fashion maven. Most days, I rock the t-shirt and jeans look.Some days, I’m lucky if I get to wash my face (showering is clearly not happening on a daily basis!).

Up until recently, I haven’t cared how I look (seriously, I tried to water down mascara that expired in 2006). I’ve spent 5 years dragging a little boy to and fro, over the river, up hill both ways. I’m tired. I’m worn out. I’m weary. I’ll admit that freely, although it took me a long time to be “ok” with myself for saying such things.

Truth be told, I’d be a perfect match for some of those TV shows that make over people who look terrible.Only I’d be the one wearing the same clothes two days in a row. How embarrassing!

So, I started to look at my life to decide what I could do to make me feel more human and less like the chauffeur, constant medicine woman, and general grunt of the house. I know that my situation is not going to change. I will always be Jack’s mom. I will always need to be on my toes and sharp.

But, I’m still a woman who needs to feel like she’s more than the slob who walks blankly through the Kroger to figure out what’s for dinner.

I have mom hair. I’m a petite girl to begin with. I have thick, long, green hair. I look like a troll.

(Yes, I have green hair. See, well..When I got the wild hair to make myself look better, I thought I’d dye over my previously highlighted hair (because I don’t have time to go get my hair done the week before Christmas). Well, that didn’t exactly work to my advantage, and I now have green streaks in my hair.)

My hair weighs me down. Literally and figuratively. I don’t do it. I get up, throw the brush through it, and pop it up in a clip all day. I can’t honestly remember the last time that my hair didn’t look like that. I don’t remember the last time I let it be long.

So, it’s going. I’m getting rid of it.

For me.

Because maybe, just maybe, getting rid of unwanted weight (in the form of hair) will help me remember that I am not just Jack’s mom. I’m also a wife. The mother of an almost-teenager. I’m still sassy! I may not wear heels and hose on a daily basis, but I can care more. I can care about me. I haven’t done that in a long time.

It’s time.

In this hectic time of year, please take a second to see yourself as more than just a mom. Be fun. Be sassy. Be you.


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