Mark Her Words...

Right before I read this post by my mom this morning, I came across an old photo of her on Facebook, posted by a high school friend.  I'm late to the game, but couldn't help chiming in.

Her hair - her nemesis.  I have so many childhood memories of my mom trying to manage style her hair every single day.  It's the hair that fine-haired people dream of: thick, full, with an endless supply of curl and body.  For years she regularly went at it herself with thinning shears, leaving in the trash can what looked like a large beaver, with plenty still left on her head.

One morning last year while my kids and I were staying at her house, she came downstairs:  post-upside-down-blow-dry, but pre-flat-iron, with a mountain of hair flying every which way.  My 2-year-old Lil looked up at her, frozen with terror, and starting crying!  "Put it back right, Grandma, put it back right!" she bawled, burying her face in my shoulder.  My mom and I laughed until we were in tears, too... How I wish I had a photo of that 'do!

Nemesis?  Maybe.  But a well-controlled one, like a villain in a comic book who never even has a chance.  Wielding weapon after weapon - from embracing the bouffant in the 60s to a regular clothing iron in the 70s,  the giant velcro rollers of the 90s, and several different before-they-were-trendy flat-iron/round brush combos in the early 2000s, she's been showing that mop who's boss for decades.

So now we've hit a paradigm shift.  To quote her post this morning:  

"I liked my hair a whole lot more than I ever thought I did, and I will never curse it again!"

Fighting the frizz has conditioned you for battle, Mom, it's just that now the enemy has changed.   Don't worry, though - that mane will be back in no time!