My two oldest daughters have gone to the dark side. Or at least their hair has. They each now have short, brunette hair.
I always wanted a little girl with dark hair. I thought that I would have to get one through adoption, but apparently all I had to do was send my own offspring to get their hair cut without supervision.
Now they are urging me to do the same. I’ve been weighing the pros and cons of such a big move.
- With dark hair, no one would recognize me. I would be like a bad spy in a Tom Clancy novel.
- I could finally, finally get away from the blonde jokes.
- I would become magically smarter.
- I would have less fun.
- If I were to dye my hair dark, it would never go back to its natural blonde color by itself. I would have to bleach it back. I would probably end up bald in the process.
- I would have to maintain it. I am not a maintainer. I have been known to go years between haircuts. The thought of having to color my hair every six weeks is just too much for my tiny little blonde brain to handle. (Which begs the question, if I were brunette, would I suddenly become capable of hair maintenance?)
But wait, there’s more –
Along with the color of my hair, I also need to decide if I want a new hairstyle. Yes, yes I do. But which hairstyle?
Sarah spent several hours on the computer a few nights ago, trying to find a new ‘do that I could pull off. She couldn’t find one. “You’ll never look good!” she wailed in despair.
I took that as a challenge, and spent several more hours trying to find the perfect cut. I even went to one of those special sites where you put in all of your information and through the magic of cyberspace, you are presented with the PERFECT! haircut. I painstaking entered my age (29, in case you’re wondering), height (Amazon), skin tone (albino), weight (seriously?), and all kinds of important information about my hair. In the end, the internet (yes, the entire worldwide web) threw up its cyber-hands in frustration, presented me with four haircuts that would only be suitable for Courtney Love, and pleaded with me to shave off all of my hair and get a wig.
I will now be taking recommendations from actual humans, just as long as they can do so with a straight face. Wish me luck.
Now that we’ve taken care of that important bit of business, I thought I’d update you on some other happenings on the homefront.
It turns out that Sarah gets really annoyed if you’re belting out “Just the Way You Are” while folding laundry in the loft while she is working on a paper. It annoys her even more when you change the words to, “I’m amazing, just the way I am!” Not that I would know. I would certainly never sing off tune while folding socks.
I did not refill my advent calendar. I didn’t iron it, either. It’s feeling pretty neglected these days. Since they couldn’t find any more candy to sneak off with, the munchkins got into a giant bag of pecan halves instead. The bag is now empty. Don’t blame me, I only ate a few. (Handfuls.) So now, not only is there no candy in our advent calendar, but we are also out of nuts. Zer vill be no pecan pie for us zis Christmas!
Joshua finally got bitten by the political bug last Saturday. The gang had a little get together to celebrate Greg the Great’s birthday, and there just happened to be a heated swimming pool at the party’s location. Since Josh thinks that swimming in the wintertime is even better than a giant pecan pie filled with Legos and Snickers bars, he has spent the past week telling everyone, and I do mean everyone, that he went swimming with Senator Mike Lee. (Here’s my disclaimer: Mike did not actually swim. The only people doing actual swimming were children. The grown ups sat and chatted about Mike’s awesome experiences in D.C. Although my brood had to leave early to catch a performance of “Nutcracker on Ice.” Maybe the grownups were just waiting until I was gone before they all jumped in the hot tub. Maybe the thought of having to see me in a swimming suit was too terrifying for anyone else to withstand. Maybe I’m as paranoid as a bad spy in a Tom Clancy novel.)
And finally, did I ever show you this? It’s Daniel’s x-ray from the emergency room. If you look really closely you might be able to tell where his leg was broken.
He’s doing great now – his new titanium leg is indestructible and he has a cool gangsta swagger when he walks.
Have I mentioned that the only thing I’ve ever wanted more than a brunette child was my very own Six Million Dollar Man? Who knew that all I had to do was throw my own offspring in front of a truck to get one?