Bobby Pins

bobby pinsI thought that once my kids were past the Lego and Polly Pockets phase of life that our plumbing would be safe from foreign objects.

I was wrong.

Nobody warned me about teenage girls and bobby pins.

When I was a teenager bobby pins were something that Grandma wore to hold her “set” until her next appointment with Edna.

My mom had some – a remnant of her teenage years in the 1950’s.  These were stored in the back of her dresser drawer and pulled out once or twice a year as needed to use in our high school plays.

They were not cool.

They were to be avoided at all costs.

But not any more.

Now they are hot commodities; much needed for the casual “updo” that my girls love.

And they are all over my house.

I find them in every room – on the floor, in the couch, on the counter, on the table, in the sink. I think the girls must shed them as they walk or something since I’ve even found bobby pins in their brothers’ room.

They leave rust stains in the shower, get stuck under the baseboards and have babies in the bathroom vanity. I cleaned out the drawers recently and found enough bobby pins to curl and set an entire nursing home wing.

I guess I should count my blessings.

Like the fact that my girls do their own hair now – and it’s beautiful.

And hey – at least bobby pins don’t hurt like a Lego when you step on it on your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night!

Of Hair Cuts and Olivia Walton

I finally did it.

I cut my bangs.

Ever since Christmas I’ve been growing them out.

Why? I’m not sure.

I think it started when Dagmar had her hair cut and styled. As I sat there in the beauty parlor watching a professional turn my little girl’s pony tail into a young woman’s style – I started to feel a little dowdy. After all I’ve been wearing my hair the same way for years now.

Maybe it was the combination of country music and the intoxicating scent of hair product –  but I suddenly realized that I wanted a change. I would grow my bangs out and get a style.

The problem is that I have naturally curly hair. It doesn’t like change.  It does whatever it pleases on any given day. I’ve learned to subdue it by keeping it trimmed.

What was I thinking?

This life without trimming was fine at first – but slowly started to drive me crazy.

My subdued locks went wild with no restraint.

I actually bought <gulp> product to use. I gummed my bangs up with hair gel and sprayed them with hairspray – but as soon as I left the house the curls would bounce out every which way.


The family was supportive at first, although their eyebrows went up in amazement when the hair spray came out. Was their minimum maintenance momma actually using hair product?! What would be next? Heels?

When I would get discouraged the girls would say, “Just give it a little more time Mom”. Even my husband encouraged me to let it grow.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday was one of those incredibly awful bad hair days.

The humidity was high after two days of rain and no amount of hair product was going to subdue my errant curls.

I had corkscrews growing off my forehead in random patterns. I cringed every time I passed by a mirror.

I mentioned to my girls that I was ready to chop off those bangs – and in return I got wan little smiles that seemed to say, “Yes Mom – it’s time!”

This morning I casually mentioned to my husband that I thought it was time to cut my bangs. Even he agreed, saying, “Will you cut it yourself or go in to the salon?”

So I cut them.

It was such a relief.

I felt like myself again. It was comfortable. My curls and I were at peace.

I feel a little like Olivia Walton. In several episodes of the Walton’s she feels the need to make a change, to be or look different. Yet at the end of the hour-long show, no matter what she tried – soloist in the church choir or a new hairdo –  she realized that she rather liked things the way the were before.

She went searching for something that she already had.

Me too. It just took me four months.

But I found it – my very own style – the one that has worked for years.

It’s good to be back.