Curly-headed Bliss!

I am thirty-five years old.  I have had roughly around eight professional haircuts in my LIFE!  Until yesterday, I had hated every single one of them.  No matter how much I would try to inform the stylist or how much they tried to convince me they knew how to handle my curly locks, they inevitably would give me a cut any straight-headed girl would adore.  My hair would turn into a wedge, triangle, or just overall WRONG shape - often helmet-like and frizzy.  They would brush, blow dry, overwork, and completely destroy my ringlets.  So, I would vow to never return to a salon again and would just chop my crop on my own.  It wasn't great, but it was better than what I'd get and I didn't have to pay for it.

After at least eight years away from the salon, I took the plunge again yesterday...only this time I went to Devachan!  I heard there were these salons that catered to curly-heads.  After some research, I decided Devachan was the place for me, but with a $100 price tag on a hair cut, it didn't seem likely I'd get to experience the curly-head paradise for myself.  I campaigned for cash when it came time for birthday and Christmas gifts so that I could indulge.  After some sideways glances from my straight-haired family...you want a HAIRCUT for Christmas????....I guess I convinced them!  So, after making my appointment weeks in advance, I stuffed my wallet with my gifted cash and headed for Manhattan like a child anticipating the arrival of Santa Claus! 

Nervous and excited, I arrived over thirty minutes early to my destination.  It was cold and blustery outside, so I went in.  A contemporary and somewhat minimalist decor, with warm green tones and an incredibly clean, non-chemical smell greeted me.  The woman at the front counter welcomed me kindly and took me to the waiting room where I settled in on a green couch and looked around, feeling like a fish out of water.  I was the only one in the waiting room and the place was very quiet.  Within minutes, a few other curly-heads of different varieties began to enter.  

A young woman came and asked me follow.  She took my coat and handed me a silky and shiny champagne colored robe and sent me to a little dressing room to put it on.  I came out and again took my seat in the waiting area, now amongst several others in champagne silky robes.  I tried to read, but couldn't concentrate.  As I sat in wonderment, watching stylists come and go, hugging and kissing their clients, I felt somewhat in awe of this strange and mystical place!

Soon enough, it was my turn and I followed a wavy-haired young woman back into the styling area.  It was like entering some alternate universe full of various forms of curls...from tight ringlets, to loose waves, to kinky frizz...there was hardly a straight hair in sight!  I took my seat in my stylist, Julie's, chair.  We chatted about my hair and then she went to work.

They cut the hair dry, so they can see it's natural curl and avoid the common problem of too-short cuts upon shrinkage.  It was fascinating to watch!  A real artist, she cut...curl by curl...in a seemingly random fashion.  No perfectly evened-out layers!  A snip here and a snip there, she had me stand up at one point so she could see how the curls were falling better.  She talked to me about curl-care and reminded me to never use a brush!  I laughed and told her about The Girl's fall-out with her five year old friend over an attempt to brush her curls.  Funny how something seemingly meaningless, like curly hair, can create an immediate feeling of camaraderie and understanding!

AFTER the cut, I was sent with Danielle to get washed.  While she scrubbed my scalp with "No Poo", she educated me on the best ways to wash and condition curls.  I held a mirror and watched her finger comb my hair and work on each curl with conditioner.  A pleasant young lady with many tips and tricks to offer, I found it so refreshing to feel completely at ease while someone else worked with my hair!  Normally, I would cringe through the entire process while my hair was put through torture!  

After gently squeezing the excess water into a microfiber towel, she carefully clipped a few curls at my crown to give it a little lift.  I sat under the gentle dryer and read my book; finally able to relax.  After a while, my stylist, Julie, returned, took out the clips, did a few snips on some curls she decided needed a little more trimming, and separated the curls.  I stood with her, staring into the mirror, with the most ridiculous grin on my face!  My hair was super shiny, with NO frizz, each ringlet super-defined, framing my face perfectly without dragging me down!  I must have looked so silly standing there, beaming.  

I gushed over Julie and Danielle and thanked them profusely.  I returned my silky robe and traded it for my coat.  I went to the kind woman at the front counter to pay, all the while still grinning like a giddy school girl.  She was generous with compliments and told me she could see how happy I was with the cut.  When the price tag came in at $146, BEFORE tips, I had a small jolt back to reality!  Did I really just spend that much money on a HAIRCUT?!?!?!?!?!  I justify it with the fact that over the course of my lifetime, I've spent next to nothing on haircare.  That makes sense.  Right?

The next day, with my own products.

Two hours after my haircut began, I stepped outside into the streets of SoHo and was caught immediately in a swirl of bitter cold wind!  I walked to the subway in the light snow, hair swirling, but with a new little bounce in my step.  It was the first time ever in my life I felt good about my haircut and I wasn't going to let a little wind take that feeling away

Superwoman...or not

Another new year has begun, which means another semester of college has ended.  While the challenges I face as a Mom going back to school are many, nothing could have prepared me for this past semester of school.  If my first semester back had been even half as difficult as this one, I don't think I would have continued!  It remains difficult to even think about it, let alone write about it.  While I somehow managed a nearly flawless semester, grade-wise, I must admit that I completely failed in many other ways.  I did not spend anywhere near enough time with my kids.  My relationship with the boy has grown slightly strained (I guess to be expected when your son is 11).  The girl complains often that I don't play with her enough.  This makes me sad.  The man and I rarely see one another.  All of this makes me feel uncomfortable with my self.  I think, however, worst of all is the lack of attention I have paid to my own physical health and well-being.  Never enough time for exercise, too many quick meals that don't comply with my healthy standards, and some definite medical issues needing attention but not getting it combined with an impossible work load, little sleep, and the guilt of not handling it all well have left me in a state of physical and mental exhaustion comparable to no other time in my life.  Stop the presses!  A middle-aged woman is overworked and tired!  (wait, that can't be me...middle aged???)  Obviously, I am not alone in this.  Why do we put ourselves last, even when thinking we are putting ourselves first (going back to school)?  What is this tendency toward guilt us Moms seem to be programmed with?  Why don't we give ourselves the same break we give everyone else?  I think it's time to forgive ourselves and realize that we're not superwomen!  Well, some of us are, but not me...or you!!!!

Uphill Battles and Downhill Butterflies

We are now a few weeks into the Fall semester of my last and final senior year of college.  While I enjoy the business of life during school, this particular semester has been so completely non-stop from day one that sometimes I feel I can't even breathe!  My business is SLOWLY taking off and I find myself wishing it wasn't!  It's difficult to focus on school while trying to plan for classes and lessons I will be teaching, not to mention the business side of it, taking care of my children, housework, blah, blah, blah.  An insurmountable task it feels at times.  

I decided to commute via bicycle this year, in an effort to fit exercise into my way too busy life, go green, and save money.  It's great fun except for one thing:  the commute to campus is 3.5 miles and literally uphill the entire way!  Last week, while sweating my way through town, I thought about just giving up.  There was this moment where my legs were burning from exertion and I just didn't want to do it anymore.  I questioned if the effort was worth it.  The climb is very gradual for a while and then, just when I'm a few blocks from my destination, the climb becomes so incredibly steep that I sometimes have to get off and walk my bike.  It always feels like I'll never reach the top and yet, somehow, I always do.

While making the ascent one beautiful morning, I began to realize how very symbolic is my commute!  The never-ending uphill battle to campus is the perfect metaphor for my never-ending uphill battle to my degree.  I am at this very moment in my final climb.  It is steep and seemingly impossible at times.  Sometimes, I have to persevere in a way that feels almost like giving up; just as when I need to get off and walk the bike up the final hill.  Although it may not be the most graceful way to reach the top, nor the fastest, I am getting there and on my own power.  

The very same day I was contemplating these similarities, I encountered the most beautiful butterfly on my commute home.  Getting home feels so easy - that giant hill is a breeze on the way down!  The creature flew directly in front of me, about five feet away, for a half mile of my ride; as if it was guiding me home!  It was so incredibly moving and rewarding to realize that had I not struggled my way up the hill, I would not have been a witness to this incredible gift on the way down the hill.  Each time now I feel like calling it quits when school overwhelms me, I just remind myself of the butterfly and press on.

Stop the Ride!

Well, let's just get it out in the open...I suck at blogging.  In my mind, I am a fabulous blogger... seamlessly integrating every moment of my life into witty and easy-to-read snippets you all can't wait to read.  I'm not sure when it happened, but sometime in my old age the act of putting my thoughts into coherent statements for others to read has become a monumental task, requiring way more energy than I typically have at the end of a long day.  Today, I decided it was time to make the effort again...so as to not completely disappoint my slew of eager readers.

Have you ever had a moment in life when you just wanted to yell, "Stop the ride!"?  The last time I shared with you all, I was coming to terms with a pregnancy.  Shortly after posting, I was faced with another unexpected challenge - a miscarriage.  The roller coaster continues and never lets me off!!!!  I have no way to put into words how emotionally draining this summer has been.  Mustering up the strength to become excited about an unexpected pregnancy at a very inconvenient time in life was not an easy task.  Trying to work through that process with a husband falling into a deep depression was seemingly impossible.  Realizing that it was all for nothing was seriously almost incomprehensible!

The moment I knew I was losing the baby was one of the most bizarre moments of my life.  There was this huge part of me that wanted to just heave the biggest sigh of relief...I almost laughed at the feeling of that burden being lifted!  Simultaneously, I experienced such grief...a deep sadness that only a mother who has lost a child can understand.  It was a weight lifted with another huge weight dropped upon me.  I'd say the most difficult part was trying to explain to The Girl.  She wept.  I wept along with her.  It broke my heart.  She was already a big sister...making plans...dreaming of her new role in life.  It was taken away from her and she didn't understand.  There are no good words to explain something so big and confusing to a 4 year old!

The births of my two children were each incredibly long and difficult.  Had it not been for the interventions of modern medicine, I would have not survived childbirth.  I guess I should have not been surprised that my body handled the miscarriage in a similar manner.  It was 10 1/2 weeks total before the process was complete!  I felt like a prisoner to my own body.  It was a miserable way to spend the summer, but I tried my best to keep moving and show the kids a good time.

Here I am...almost 12 weeks later...trying to figure out why I am so irritable.  What a silly question!  I don't know how to rest and still be an effective caretaker to those around me.  The timeless struggle of motherhood!  I start to feel resentment toward everyone and everything around me - not cute, I must admit.  I DO know, however, that I will be fine.  I always am...and I don't mean I put on a brave face and act fine.  My innermost self is always full of joy and can withstand anything.  It has been so since I was a small child.

I do not put this out there because I want sympathy or pity...I abhor those sentiments!  I share because I need to put my thoughts into words that make sense to others in order for them to make sense to me!  I share because maybe someone can learn something from my experience or can take solace in knowing that someone has felt something similar.

And so, the ride continues and I am going with it!  Next task...where to grad school?  What exactly to study?  Hmm...so much on the horizon!      

The Best Laid Plans...

Another semester has ended and successfully so at that.  I promised I'd post my thoughts on the Osama bin Laden thing, but it will still have to wait.  My heart is so heavy over the topic that I just haven't been able to say what I want in an effective manner.  I do, however, have some other pressing things on my mind.  It was a challenging year, to say the least, and I learned so much about myself - both good and bad.  It seems that I have been adapting too well to the challenge and so life decided to throw in a curve ball just to see how I'll do.  So, here it is...the official shock and awe moment of my life...we are expecting our third child in December!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Yes, I know, everyone is oohing and ahhing.  Here's the thing, people...we were DONE!  We decided many years ago we were not having any more children!  We planned the next five years carefully.  I am finishing my undergrad, going straight to grad school, etc.  HA!  That's what I get for planning!  So, after the denial, disbelief, terror, panic has had time to pass, reality has set in and I am left with disbelief, terror,  and panic!  We broke the news to the boy and the girl, who are both ecstatic over the idea.  It definitely helped and I am feeling little waves of excitement in between my disbelief, terror, and panic.  I still plan to graduate next year...should be fun as a vocal performance major in the fall being SUPER pregnant!  Can't wait for Opera Workshop scenes!  As long as this baby hangs in there until after finals, all should be well.  Am I crazy?  Maybe a little: )  But, that's what makes life interesting.  Now, we'll just have an extra family member to enjoy the ride with us!

A Moment of Guilt

I should be writing a paper about Bach's St Matthew Passion.  I should be packing the house for our move next week.  I should be learning Act Three of Albert Herring.  I should be doing dishes, laundry, SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE!  Instead, I'm blogging.  I am wrestling with feelings of frustration, sadness, guilt, worry.  I sat in the chair at the Voice Center today and watched my vocal folds behave in a manner NOT conducive to professional level singing!  For the last six months or so, I have struggled off and on with unexplained vocal issues.  Teachers theorized that it was stress or allergies.  I wondered if the new techniques I have been trying out were ruining my voice.  Sometimes it just felt like I had forgotten how to sing!  Last Sunday, I performed my Junior Recital for a small crowd of family and friends, but I felt a total wreck the entire time.  I struggled to remember words.  I felt unusually nervous.  The truth is, the entire hours length of performance I had this horrible fear that my voice was not going to come out.  I went for notes that generally come with ease, but would find myself flat or sharp!  I felt completely out of control.  I distinctly recall a moment where I thought about walking off the stage and forgetting the whole thing!  It was as if suddenly there was a break in my voice that was never there before.  The love and support of family and friends helped me to feel better about things, but I couldn't shake the overall feeling of disappointment in myself.  My Mom reminisced about my first solo on Easter Sunday when I was two.  I've been singing my entire life.  Most of my childhood I was ill - I had a chronic cough and terrible asthma.  I always wanted to sing anyway.  Most of my performances, I was sick.  I always hated the feeling of performing ill, but couldn't stop doing it!  My high school music teachers always told me I should stick to piano; that my voice wasn't strong enough and I was too sick to be a singer.  I don't really know why I stuck with singing all these years, but that it's who I am.  After all this time, I am finally trying to finish this degree and seriously pursue performance again.  After the lack-luster recital experience, I told the man I thought I would give up singing after I finished my degree and pursue my Masters in acting.  I really thought I had had enough of the unpredictability of this instrument I live with every day.  Today, the doctor told me my voice is damaged and most likely the only treatment is surgery.  He insists it's safe and virtually no-risk.  The idea terrifies me!  There's no such thing as risk-free surgery!  What if when it's over, I can't sing at all?  Yesterday, I was ready to give it up.  Today, I am told it could be taken away from me and I feel like I can't live without it!  Maybe this is God's way of encouraging me to keep at it?  Now for the guilt part... The world is dealing with major disasters right now.  Tremendous loss is everywhere!  I have friends and family battling serious things like cancer!  How dare I feel so sad over the thought of not being able to sing anymore!  I mean, do I really have the right to be depressed over the possibility of losing my singing voice????  I think not.  And so now I am done.  Time to pack some boxes and move forward.  

Where's the Bacon?

So, it's a new year and I have not blogged in a while.  As I look back on 2010 and the new ventures in my life, I feel a sense of accomplishment, but with a hint of failure thrown in.  Yes, I was quite successful with my first semester back at school - this mama got straight As!  I was moderately successful at balancing that with parenting.  I was a complete and total failure at bringing home the bacon - turkey or otherwise.  That's right.  The new business is off to a SLOW start!  It's frustrating, to say the least, as we could use an extra helping of bacon to plump up our bank accounts right now.  While I feel the urge to be hard on myself for not being the sensational success I set out to be, I am going to try and resist.  It's only been a few months...I think I need to give it time.  Something we all could stand to do...slow down and give things time!  I have always been one to expect instant results from myself - I just laughed out loud at myself for saying that - I began my degree 17 YEARS AGO!!!!!  Not an easy pill for me to swallow.  I finished high school in 3 years.  I often skip steps for the end result.  This degree will be the biggest sigh of relief in my life and I guess I should stop asking myself where's the bacon and have a little patience in the process.  Happy 2011!