Tag Archives: hair

The Red Bribe

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Some of you already know this (because God knows I complain about it enough), but my daughter recently turned four, and she absolutely refuses to use the toilet. This is far beyond a potty training issue, as she knows *how* to use the toilet, but will not. I have tried everything you can image, and have consulted all those around me. My pediatrician is out of ideas. My day care provider who has been in the business for nearly 2o years has never seen such a stubborn child. My friends and family have attempted helping as best they could. Ally is a resilient little thing.

My most recent efforts involved placing her on the toilet and not allowing her to leave until she has accomplished something, repeated over several days. Each time she will hold it all in until after the trial is over, up to five or six hours, and sometimes the entire day. This is obviously not healthy. She is fighting me on it to the point where I am actually worried about harming her if we keep this up, so of course I relent.

I have tried talking, ordering, threatening, bribing, but none of these methods work. We talk, and she promises she will try, but never does. I have ordered and she has done nothing. I threatened, but how am I supposed to follow through? I have bribed, but there is nothing she wants enough to give in for. Until now.

For almost a year she has been practically obsessed with my red hair. She has collected every red haired doll she could find (and Disney has done a great job recently with providing her with such things). She constantly asks about it, and has shown disappointment at not having any of her own. I have shown her pictures of younger me with blond hair just like hers, but her four year old mind cannot understand that my red hair is produced from a bottle. She wants to be like her mother which of course is very endearing to me. However, the older she gets, the more obsessive she has become about it. I have several times assured her that once she grows up, should she still want it, she can have it.

The other day she said that she wants to shave her head because she does not have red hair. My first reaction was to the extreme nature of her statement. I told Tanya about it who then related it to her husband, and he had an amazing idea. This is the one thing she has been asking about that is not fleeting (as in some of her interests that have lasted all of two days). This is something that she *really* wants.

Well, as it happens, there is something I really want. Hrm….

I immediately started researching different types of hair dye since the ones I use are pretty harsh. I found some organic henna ones that would work pretty well and have less chemicals than most commercial dyes. This is not to say they are totally not harmful, but considering I was only a few years older than Ally when my mother started dying my hair, I am sure she will be fine. And let’s just say my mom wasn’t too concerned with safety – little me got to experience peroxide at its best. However this does not mean I want to do that to her, so I found some that won’t damage her hair almost at all, will wash and fade over time, and won’t burn her skin. I am not saying this will be a regular thing, because it won’t. And she most certainly will not be dying her hair every three to four weeks like me. More like once a year at most. But, as I have now told her, if she uses the toilet regularly for an entire month, she gets to have red hair.

If this doesn’t work… I give up.

The Great Conspiracy

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It is official. My hair hates me. After my last attempt at professionally taming it failed, as I woke up this morning I realized my hairs conspires against me while I sleep. Any measures taken towards confining them in shape or form are emphatically thwarted throughout the night and the more important the day will be, the worse my hair will manage to tangle, poof out, and become nonnegotiable.

You may think me paranoid, but by the looks of my broken comb I was able to pinpoint the insurrection towards the west side of the my head. and before being able to apply product and moisture to calm it, the east stood up in rebellious curls. My army of brushes and bobby pins was split and conquered.

My plan was simple – a swift stroke of the brush, with a spray of water quickly following. I managed to make the north comply, but by that point the ends caught wind of my intentions and defiantly rose, meeting my brush and water with tiny outward facing spears of red thread, utterly undefeatable.

I abandoned my plans, and before any more plots against my appearance could be executed, I rushed it from underneath hoping to deflate its center. That too proved impregnable, and my brush was taken hostage by a rogue band of hairs. They were completely undiplomatic and refused to relinquish my brush, leaving me no choice but to overtake them with smoothing gels and  a mercenary troop of foreign Moroccan oils.

I was celebrating my small victory over a patch of offensive hair only to have the briefly obedient north fly at my eyes, momentarily blinding me, and removing my focus from the underbelly of hair that I had been in the process of imprisoning. I release my grip on my brush to swat at the incoming fleet of errant strands, and consequently lost my stronghold. As it crinkled back into its position I softly heard its hissing cheer.

I was running late and had had enough, bringing out my deadliest of weapons, the straightening iron. Strand by strand each region of my head took turns being chained to the machine as I dragged most oppressive heat across thin red bodies of newly repentant hair.

Some bobbed and weaved at even this, fighting to the bitter end, but after the second and sometimes third racking, even the most disobedient hairs fell into place. Their cheering hisses turned into submissive sizzles. As a reminder of my triumph I pinned several strands under my butterfly barrette.

Another day of successfully putting down hair revolts and I have maintained my reign over all regions of my hair. Tonight I sleep, they plot, and tomorrow morning we begin all over again. With my brush in hand I shall take each one down once more!

Hair Everywhere

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I was bored last night and started reading some beauty magazines online. It appears a problem a large part of the female population is having (and men might be having this problem as well, but I don’t know) has to do with the fullness of hair. I don’t necessarily mean amount of hair, but rather volume, or poofiness, or whatever it is  you want to call it. This is unfortunate for two reasons.

First, I have never had this problem. In fact, I believe I have too much hair, and at times my shedding gets out of control. I have friends who will testify that after I leave their homes they have to vacuum, at times even insinuating that I may be the reason they have to replace their vacuum cleaners so often. I am skeptical of such accusations, but I have to admit if I as much as shake my head in your direction you will be covered in a thin layer of red hair. So the last thing I need is more hair, or the appearance of it.

Which brings me to the second reason this is unfortunate (that is basically just an extension of the first reason, and really not much of a second reason at all). Because so many articles are dedicated to making women’s hair more poofy, there are less articles out there for women who have other issues. I would love to read an article on how to apply make-up to camouflage  the fact that I have only had two hours of sleep and my eyes look like I could use an ice bag. Where is *that* article, Elle?

Cosmo, put down the curlers and hair ties and tell me how smiles work. Because if you have seen my pictures lately, I look terrified in like 90% of them. This can’t just be a me thing. Right? No?… okay fine. Y’all can look glamorous in all your photos while I look like a goblin just jumped out of my coffee. I’m okay with this.

Speaking of which, Glamour, can we stop with the dry shampoo for a second and spend some time investigating mascara that doesn’t make you twitch? I am beginning to think my sight would be much better if I wasn’t continuously poking myself in the eye.

And maybe I would also stop seeing goblins in my coffee.

And In Shape, instead of focusing on how to maintain poofy hair while taking a jog, how about an article about actual running paraphernalia that finds me a pair of running shoes which don’t have a three months breaking in period? I would like to walk around without a limp again sometime soon.

Since every major brand of magazine wants to tell me what hair style is currently in style (read: everything poofy), perhaps In Style can focus on updating my wardrobe and accessories. The 80’s and 90’s have long departed, except in my closet because I was too busy teasing my hair to notice.

So while everyone else is trying to reinstate the afro, I really think we could deal with other, more important issues in the fashion industry. Like how to successfully wear sunglasses without getting that stupid little tan line on your nose.

Or at the very least how to find a concealer for said tan line. Hrm?