As we were headed out of town last Saturday, I realized that I had no ponytail holders on me. Cursing my long(-ish) hair, I actually turned around and went back home for one. Anytime you are willing to add 6 minutes to a 2-hour drive alone with 2 small children with no car DVD player, just to get your hair out of your face...well, then it is time for a haircut of drastic proportions. So when my husband casually observed yesterday that Annika's hair was a bit too much in her face, I hotfooted it over to the phone to set up appointments for us both (my husband rolling his eyes as he notes that I had decided that the call to the physical therapist could wait for the end of the week, but the stylist was needed RIGHT NOW for goodness' sake).
Annika was super excited, as she thinks haircuts are the most exciting thing ever
. And she adores Julia, our stylist. Julia was just meant to cut our hair. I went to her for the first time just after Annika was born, and loved the cut she gave me. Then all hell broke loose around here, and I didn't think of cutting my hair for the next year or so. When I finally got around to calling for another appointment, I was told that she had left the salon. As any woman in the world can tell you (and really most men, too), this was a major bummer. So I cast about for someplace else to go, finally hitting upon the brilliant idea of asking for recommendations. The first person I asked was our sitter at the time, Lauren, and I told her the whole sad story of losing track of the woman who "got" my hair. Lauren sympathized, but told me she had just the person, a new stylist that she had just discovered, and she just happened to have an extra card from her in her bag. And, of course, the card was Julia's, from her new salon. This story sounds like some sort of sappy movie about finding your soul mate, but it's all true...and soul mate? stylist? Do we really need to split hairs? (pun completely accidental) Even better when your soul mate only charges $15 for a cut, and $20 to do both you and your very talkative 4-yr-old. Yes, eat your hearts out, cityfolk.
Anyway, here was my little fuzzy head before we left for our appointment. Do note her fashionable get-up. This girl dresses
And here she is after our session with Julia:
We left Frankie with Daddy at the office while Annika and I went for our hour of beauty. When we came to pick Frankie up again, Joerg took one look at my hair and said, "So...I take it you've given up on growing your hair long?"
"No...I didn't give up. I did
it. It was long. Game over." To his credit, he quickly added, "I like it!" in a tone that sounded quite sincere, although we've been married long enough that I'm sure he knows what tone to take for occasions such as these. So here's my new lack of hair:
While I was writing out the check for Julia, Annika was gathering up her stuff, including her new My Little Pony (named Shin-Koh) that Riley and Shelby
had given her last weekend. "Oh, mom," she said in a voice of real concern, "Shin-Koh's hair is just too long
!" She cut her eyes over at Julia in a totally non-subtle way to see if her hint was being caught, which it completely was (I told you Julia's great). So Shin-Koh got to go to the chair for a quick trim, too. Here's Shin-Koh's sister with some wild, non-Julia-tamed hair:
and Shin-Koh's new look of quiet sophistication:
Keeping in mind the stories of my wonderful niece, Darcy, going at her hair, frequently, with the scissors, I kept repeating over and over to Annika that Julia was using Very Special Scissors and only
Very Special Scissors should be used to cut hair. I felt like a Very Special Idiot repeating this phrase over and over again with plenty of annoying emphasis. But by the understanding looks I got from the all the stylists, I have a feeling that they had been called in to more than one emergency hair rescue situation.
gratuitous Frankie bit
which should probably remain unrevealed. Frankie is bound and determined to wipe my butt every time I take a trip to the toilet. So helpful.