Blondie

I'm a blonde and always have been. When I was little, I had hair "down to my bottom" that was a nice light blonde and I thought it was so pretty. By the time I got to high school, the blonde had turned kind of ashy and not so pretty anymore, and half-way through my freshman year at BYU, I determined that the cost of professional hair color was worth the way it made me feel when I walked out of the salon. It's just one of those things that I know I'll be shovelling out the cash for for the rest of my life, and Neal has come to understand that. (Plus, he has no idea how much it costs.)

Having blonde hair is part of my identity, sadly enough. When my roots grow out, I feel lousy about myself. But ba-da-bing, when my very young and semi-scary goth hairdresser, Jaclyn, finishes blow drying my newly refreshed blondeness, suddenly life is good again! Steph understands, see?

This morning, Audrey pointed to the back of my head and said, "Momma, this part's brown." Yes, I know. Thank you, sweetie.

Ideally, and if you have the cashola, you're supposed to have your hair blondified every 6-8 weeks. Well, having a 5-month-old who's addicted to nursing doesn't really fit in well with the need to have my roots done. It takes a good 2 hours, and with driving time, that makes for a sad Miles, or at least I thought it would. I've only had it done once since he was born (and he was fine), and my roots are shouting that out to the world!

My parents are coming in town next week, and Dad, I am counting on your magical baby-sleep-molecules to help Miles while I get my hair done. I'm sure he'll be fine, I'll fill him up nice and full before I go. He eats baby food now, too, so he won't get hungry. I'm just preparing you, Mom and Dad. Saturday, 9.30 am. I really need my hair done. It's turning brown.