You call it Mom Hair. I call it extra sleep
For the next few days, or for as long as my mop stayed sleek and fashionable, acquaintances would lament that I never wear it that way when left to my own devices. "If you'd just spend a little more time with your hair, you'd look great."
If you'd just spend a little less time with yours, you'd earn that college degree you're always moaning about not having, I thought.
It's not the fact that I don't "look great" that bugs me - I realized long ago that even on my best days I was going to max out at "cute."
It's the fact that the fact that I don't give a flip gets me labeled as lazy or having lost my sense of "style, taste, and ability to use a hair dryer" when I became a mother. It's the idea that "my hair sends a message."
Indeed it does and it has been for 40 years, ever since I was Curly Sue stuck in a Marcia Brady world. I I'm not going to behave, it screams. I'm going to be me no matter how much you try to mousse, spritz, blow dry or hot iron me into submission. Come to think of it, my hair and my personality have a lot in common.
Then there's the much-maligned mom pony tail, which is the only way possible to restrain my hair. Living in a land of frequent 30 mph winds, a little restraint sometimes is in order. But here's a news flash for you: A ponytail was my standby loooooooooong before I had kids. I was barely into my 30s when I started walking into salons and saying, "I don't care what you do as long as it's easy to style. And leave me enough for a pony tail."
You see, I'm no nouveau slob. I have years of experience at it. Sure, I do heels, hose and makeup when I have to - it's called environmental camouflage. Deep down, I'm happiest with my sweats and ponytail, even if I could look "great" if I just tried.
No thanks. I'm always going to prefer the snooze alarm over the flat iron.
Copyright 2010 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.