Tinkerbell

I've never had great hair. My scalp is oily but my hair is dry. (Try finding a shampoo for that!) If I recall correctly, I believe the natural color is a mousy brown. But I haven't seen it's natural color in many moons. And to top it all off, recently I've been shedding in ridiculous quantities like some sort of mangy cat. Most annoying is that I always seem to find a strand in Ian's tiny fist. Despite these natural detriments, it is probably more appropriate to say that I've never been a great hair owner. All of these obstacles would be easily overcome if I spent any amount of time on it. But alas, I find blow drying tedious, product a necessary evil and salon appointments a waste of time. And as a result, it just hangs there in a limp, frizzy pile.

Hair just isn't that important to me. Never has this been more clear than watching child after child lose their hair to cancer. Maybe this experience should prompt me to count myself lucky to have hair but instead it feels quite the opposite. Hair seems more like an accessory. Like it's optional or something. Fortunately Lillian didn't seem to notice when she lost her hair. But many older kids are devastated over this side effect of chemo. Personally I think they're little bald heads are adorable! But I love to see their hair grow back after treatment as well. It's such a tangible sign of health.

Between my general disdain for my hair and my desire to help kids struggling with cancer, I decided to grow my hair out for Locks of Love. I haven't had a haircut since October and believe me it was getting beyond annoying. Recently I checked the donation instructions on the Locks of Love website. Imagine my horror to discover that they cannot accept highlighted hair due to the wig manufacturing process. Months and inches of hair wasted! That was the last straw...of limp frizzy hair. I decided to hack off the older colored hair and start anew. Fast forward and nearly a month later I excitedly marched into the salon armed with pictures of some sort of longish-short haircuts. Thirty minutes later I'm all glammed up in my gorgeous longish-short do and ready to paint the town.

Of course not. No, that wouldn't be a blog-worthy story now would it?

Instead the stylist determined that my hair was not bleached to achieve the highlights so it could in fact be donated. What the heck?! Now I'm in a dilemma. I really hate my long hair and want desperately to cut it. But I've come this far, how can I not grow it for a few more months and donate it?

After a brief discussion, I decided to really go crazy and cut off the 10 inches now. That leaves me with this:

I love, love, love my super short new do. I keep reaching back to play with my pony tail but it's not there! And I smile. Because I love, love, love the idea of a little girl proudly wearing my hair. Win-win. I caught my reflection in the car window tonight and remarked that I look like Peter Pan. Jeff said it's more like Julia Roberts as Tinkerbell in the movie "Hook." Hey, I'll take a resemblance to Julia Roberts any day! Win-win-WIN!!