Confessions

I've had wind storms for the past 7 days at my house.  I fear wind storms.  I realize that Mother Nature brings all of her glory with her when she arrives in the winter to the Pacific Northwest but wind storms?  I live on a bluff - not covered by much so I'm pretty sure I get the storms from Alaska (in eastern Washington).  In fact, when the wind hit 40 mph the other night, I felt like Dorothy and hello, I'm not in Kansas (and never have been). I will confess, I have the red heels.

Actually, this post isn't about my fears.  It is about my secret confession to be a beauty salon owner and stylist.  

It might have started when I was five years old.  I would comb my mom's hair.  I would comb my grandpa's hair and I would comb my own hair.  For hours.

A year before my grandma passed away, I would go to the care center once a week and either style or trim her hair.  I know I loved it more than she did. 

And don't kid yourself, women, you know who you are...you pick up a pair of tweezers or grooming shears and love to cut back those ear hairs and those nose hairs on your favorite partner.  Or, better yet, a straight edge disposable razor and remove the long stragglers on the neck line.

About ten years ago, my husband at the time (poor Mark, I'm sure that's one more reason why we aren't married now) had a mullet going on.  It was going to be weeks before he could get a haircut.  I said, "I can do it, we have a #2."  He was such an agreeable man. 

He sat down on the chair and I turned on the razor.  "Now, Barb, all you have to do is go from front to back."  

"OK," with excitement in my eyes.

It seemed to be going quite well until I realized I had turned the razor upside down.  Yikes.  I think he could see the fear in my eyes when I attempted to comb over the existing hair with the bald spot that I had just created.  "Um, you may have to take over."

He got up from the chair and looked in the mirror.  He agreed.  A comb over wasn't going to do the trick.  

Mark was bald that summer.   PS, We are still great friends despite the comb over (I mean, the break up).  

My mom and I have a special relationship.  Since I am a limited edition (and she is thankful every day she only had one of me), my mom and I spend quite a bit of time together.  On Thanksgiving, I noticed that she looked a bit tired (and whenever someone says you look tired...it's not a good thing) and her hair hadn't been primped in awhile (the entire family goes to the same hairdresser, Steve).  Another confession, I have cut my own hair in the past and I've seen other hairdressers - and don't kid yourself...you have too.

I texted my mom Friday (I love that my mom texts) and told her I had a surprise for her and I would meet her at my house after work.  

When she arrived later that day, I had a box of hair color laying on the table (an auburn/medium brown), makeup and calming lotion (yes, they make it).  

My mom is shy.  She gazed at the table full of beauty products. "What are we doing tonight?"  I said, "I think you need a pick me up."  

And she said in her polite manner, "I think you may need a pick me up."

She was right and I confess,  I did.  I put on my apron and went to town...on her hair. 

 

BEFORE

AFTER