El Grande's been on vacation from his job for two weeks. During that time we've been splitting time with the boys and catching up on errands and other crap around the apartment, and going on dates and doing the Fat Flush and stuff like that. Yesterday El Grande asked me if I wanted "the day off" today.
So this morning I put on my running clothes and checked out for the day (mostly). I dropped off some stuff at Goodwill and the post office, then ran 1.5 miles. Came home and showered, nursed El P (who didn't fall asleep for his nap, but it wasn't my problem), then left for errands. I bought some plate protectors (I'm switching out my breakable plates for some melamine plates I got at Target so El Chico can start setting the table), two pairs of sexy summer shoes, a purse, a bag for my stroller, and some supplies for a baby shower project I'm doing. Then I checked out dolls for El P's first birthday, but didn't find anything I liked*.
Then I went to get my hair cut. This is complicated since I gave up my old stylist, G. I'd been going to him since I moved to New York 10 years ago. But the schlep to his salon had just gotten the better of me, so I abandoned him. Once I admitted that I wasn't going back, El Grande revealed that he'd hated every single cut G had ever given me. Um, OK.
So I spent my entire pregnancy and 7 months of El P's life growing out my hair. I also used that time to transition from dying my (naturally medium-brown) hair red to not processing at all (by doing highlights to ease the transition from dying to natural).
I started doing my hair red in college. One year I went as Kate Pierson for Halloween. I'm a singer, so I dyed my hair red and teased it into oblivion, wore a babydoll dress, and went around singing "shiny happy people holding haaaaaands" and "the looove shaack is a little old place where we can get togethe-e-e-er" all night. Here's what I found out: guys love fake redheads wearing short skirts and singing drunkenly but on key. So I stayed kind of dark red for a few years. After a home dying travesty in Mexico, I started getting my hair professionally colored a lighter almost strawberry blonde. And I loved it. It made me feel sexy and powerful. I was prepared to be one of those women who has no idea when she goes gray because she goes straight from red to white.
But then it got too tough to keep up, once I had a kid. Red needs to be done every 6 weeks to look good. I didn't have the time or money anymore. And I didn't really need (I thought) to feel powerful or sexy anymore. So I switched to highlights, and was considering going back to brown.
Last fall El Grande said to me, "Would you ever consider letting your hair grow out? I've never seen your real color." We'd been married 6 1/2 years, and together for 8 1/2 years at that point. So how could I say no?
Flash forward to today. I walk into the chain haircuttery that does El Chico's hair. I'd gotten two stellar cuts from a guy there who then got transferred to another location so far away that it might as well be in Connecticut. So I figured I could chance it with another stylist at my close salon.
I sat down in her chair, thinking she looked vaguely familiar. We talked about what I wanted and I showed her photos. About 10 minutes into the cut I had the sinking realization that she was the stylist who'd insulted El Chico last time we'd been in that salon. Yes, she'd insulted a 4-year-old. El Chico likes to sit on one of our laps while he gets his hair cut--I think he's afraid of the scissors. She'd asked him how old he was, then said, "Oh? You seem younger, because big boys don't have to sit on their mommies' laps to get their hair cut." WTF???? I vowed never to go back to her. But I negelected to remember what she looked like, until I was in her chair with her scissors in my hair.
She snipped and cut, and blew dry and sprayed, and I had my glasses off the whole time. When I put them on again at the end, I'd been transformed into Hillary Clinton with bangs. Thankfully not the headband HC, but still. I'm 33 years old. I have sexy new summer shoes. I know lots of the lyrics to the songs the kids are listening to today. I shouldn't look like a 60-year-old Senator.
So I'm going to experiment with styling wax and gel to see if it was a horrible cut, or just vastly misguided styling of a salvageable cut.
Then I ate some crap-but-delicious food, read a book, and picked up El Chico from his Spanish class and came home. Now the boys are asleep and El Grande is out drinking with a friend, and I get to watch my story.
Days off are a lot of work. Gloriously worth it, but next time I'll schedule in a nap.
*Does anyone know of any dolls that are 1) not bigger than 10 inches, since they're for a baby, 2) not scented like fake vanilla, 3) not stuffed with plastic beads that will choke my child if he gets rough and the doll comes apart, and 4) not $100 apiece? I'm on the verge of asking my mom to make one for him.