The Evolution of Hair

I've been thinking lately about the evolution of my hair.  Possibly because I've let it grow out for the past 3 1/2 years and I'm getting lots of comments about how long it's gotten.  Maybe because I'm heavily ensconced in the post-partum shedding phase and could have a lucrative career making doll wigs with the hair I shed daily.  Maybe because I have a haircut scheduled for this Thursday - HOLLA - and have been perusing "hairstyles for those with chubby faces and curly hair" online.  Sadly, all I can really find under that topic are pictures of Annie and lots of experts saying that curly hair and chubby faces don't go together.  Tell me something I don't know! 

It wasn't always so.

I was born, like my children after me, pretty much bald and confused.

Actually Me!

With wisps of light hair and my eyebrows scrunched down I was ready to face the world, once I woke up.  This remains the same today.  I continue to greet the day with wispy hair and a sour face.  At this point we didn't know what a huge role my hair would play in my life.  (Most likely because at this point I was lacking hair.)

At around age 6 I had the hair I thought I would have for the rest of my life:

Again, really me.

Blonde, straight and bangs starting behind my ears.  This hair was the envy of all toothless first graders.  With my My Little Pony, Care Bear and drugstore brand Cabbage Patch Doll I was sitting pretty, ready to face my future with style and grace.  Wish I had appreciated this hair for the short years I enjoyed it!!!

But, puberty hit.  And that girl slapped me pretty hard. 

Sadly, it's still me.

Puberty delivered acne, braces, sweet frizzy bangs, curly hair and bad advice.   When I went to get my 7th grade yearbook photo taken I wasn't sure what sassy style to go with.  A friend suggested wearing a turtle neck in a solid color.  I'm pretty sure my less than stellar 7th grade hygiene dictated the pony tail.  The affect was... startling.  This black and white scanned in photo doesn't do it justice.  I'm pretty stoked that anyone signed my yearbook!  Thank goodness for church and the guilt induced friendships it provides (ha ha ha)!!

Oh, 8th grade.  By now my mom had figured out something was going on with my hair and gave me a trim to "free up the curls". 

Shazaam - Triangle Head

You'll note the sweet curlie q's someone drew around my picture.  I remain grateful to this friend for her willingness to add a little pizazz to an otherwise epic fail.  With this haircut you're not really sure where the bangs end, they just kind of blend into the entire frizzy situation.  I like to keep things mysterious.  It's always helped me with the fellas (wink, wink).

Unfortunately, or extremely fortunately, I couldn't find my 9th grade yearbook when I scanned these gems in today.  But let's just say that after Epic Fail 8th my mom decided to take pity on me and took me to her hair dresser.  I've learned something from that experience.  If you don't want to come out with your mom's hair cut, don't go to your mom's hairdresser.  I'm pretty sure I was jut given a variation of my mom's hair cut, but it was victimized by rabid natural curl and I ended up with "Helmet Head".

For real.

I later learned that people actually called me that behind my back in 9th grade.  This doesn't hurt my feelings.  I find it very kind of them that I didn't hear it to my face and I only learned about it after the fact.  

Despite how embarrassing it could be, I really do kind of wish I had a picture to show you.  Because it was one in a million.

High school was when I finally realized that haircuts were Satan's tools of soul destruction and I began to just let my hair grow. 

Apparently, I still had a thing or two to learn, because you can grow out your hair and still have no idea how to do it.

Senior Year

As graduation loomed I must have been feeling nostalgic for my helmet of the past and decided to do a mini helmet for picture day.  Just the top half of my head.  Wouldn't want to be too crazy and undo all the good I'd done by staying away from scissors and my mom's "friends". 

In college I tried chemically straightening it, blowing it out every day and finally cutting it short again just before I met The Hubs.  Oddly, probably from years of feeling unappreciated and victimized by hair fads, it turned brown.  But, as though my luck changed with the color, I learned about working with it and pulling back things that try to escape.  Now was not the time to fail, I had me a man to snag.... and it worked!!

Me and The Hubs while dating

Alas, now it's 13 years later and I'm thrown back to the days of my adolescence.  I have acne again.  My hair is frizzing out of control and my mom wants me to go to her hair dresser.  What's a girl to do?  Do I ignore the failings of my past and cut this shag off me?  Or do I keep it long and invest in lint rollers to take up a collection of shedded frizz?

I don't know.  I just know that I'm hoping I end up a little less like this...

And a little more like this...

I mean, a girl can dream...right??