Suffer for Beauty

For a few years now, my Mom has dyed my hair. I have been down the road of going to the salon and having my hair highlighted/weaved/dyed and came to the following conclusions:

(a) It’s too expensive
(b) It never (with the exception of some hairdressers) turns out the way I want
(c) My hair grows out too quickly, so I have to repeat the process and deal with point “a” & “b” again, which leads to point “c” and then, repeat…You see the endless cycle, right?

So, yesterday I went over to my Mom’s and she dyed my hair. She usually dyes it in the kitchen or outside. We get out the kitchen bar stool. I proceed to comb my hair to get the knots out. I don’t think I’ve ever purchased the same hair dye/color twice. I always go for a different shade and/or a different brand. I’ve tried the beauty salon stuff and have settled for the kind you get from the grocery store or Walgreens that comes in a box. It seems to work just as good, if not better. (Or, I’ll let you be the judge…ha ha.)
So, back to the story…I jump on the stool…then comes the cape or towel around my neck and the fun begins! My Mom and I have about the same conversation every time she does my hair. We’ve said to each other that we should just record and listen to our taped conversation each time she colors my hair, because the dialogue really doesn’t change much. It goes something like this:

MOM: “Okay…so, what do I do?”

ME: “Read the directions.” (The piece of paper written with English on one side and Spanish on the other is lying on the kitchen counter…I point to it and show her…She looks at the paper. I point out to her that she needs to start with the roots and leave it on for a while and then do the rest.)

MOM: “Ah...I’m not going to read it…I’ll just do it.”

ME: (Ugh…sigh…Yikes! I proceed to grab the directions and tell her what to do.)

MOM: (Puts on the gloves and mixes the solution together very tentatively like she’s never done this before. She has though…and she does a great job.)

ME: “Okay, we have to time this…”

MOM: (Starts the process)

ME: “Make sure you cover the roots.”

MOM: “Oh, I hope I know what I’m doing!”

ME: “WHAT are you talking about??? You’ve done this before!!!”

MOM: “Okay…Well, I just don’t want to ruin it.” (This is sometimes followed with a prayer: “Lord, please help me to do Heidi’s hair.”)

ME: “Make sure you get all over. Don’t stay in one spot. You need to get the other side!”

MOM: “Okay…boy, I hope I don’t run out of this stuff.” (referring to the solution)

ME: “WHAT??? Do you have enough?!”

MOM: (Looks at solution in bottle…it’s about ½ full)…”Oh, yea, we should have enough.”

ME: (Heart palpitations, quick breathing, mild anxiety attack)…”Okay, don’t scare me like that!”

(We both laugh)

MOM: “Boy you have a lot of hair!”

ME: “You always say that…”

MOM: (Proceeds to dye and comb my hair to make sure she gets every square inch…the memories of childhood are now returning to me, of my Mom brushing my hair as a little girl…oh, the pain!) “Oh, I hope I have enough.”

ME: (About 15 minutes has passed.) “You better hurry up and get it all on my hair. We need to time this.”

MOM: “Oh, okay…I’ll hurry up!”

ME: “Okay…I’m sorry for being crabby.”

Mom: “You’re not crabby…you’re fine. Get crabby!” (LOL)

ME: “Are you finished?”

MOM: “Almost.”

ME: “Are you finished?”

MOM: “Yep…”

ME: “Okay, now we need to time it.” (I look in the mirror and freak out because my hair looks orange. In the beginning when she first started doing this, it would come out with more of a strawberry tint, but I think we’re using better shades these days.)

MOM: (Grabs plastic hair clip that has dagger-like claws…Piles my hair on top of my head and proceeds to use the clip to hold my hair together!!! Big OUCH!) “Suffer for Beauty,” she says. (This was a saying that my Grandmother used to say all of the time. LOL)

Once the time is up, I usually go to the Utility Room and rinse and condition my hair in the big, deep sink. I am capable of washing my own hair, but when I am bent over with my head under the sink, gravity tends to take over. The water drains on the back of my head and proceeds to run down the side of my face and finds its way to my eyeballs. This is why it helps to have someone help you. This is where my Mom comes into play. If I hold a towel around my face, she can rinse my hair and I don’t have this problem.

Yesterday, my Dad and Mom left to run an errand, so I was left to rinse my own hair. I thought I would be fine, but soon after I turned on the scalding hot water, trying to find the right temperature, it was moments later that the water started to make a beeline for my eyes…OUCH!!! I don’t like having chemicals in my eyes. They were burning badly! The more I tried to make it stop the worse it seemed to get. I just knew that I had to get my contacts out of my eyes. That was fun (NOT) to poke my eyes with my fingers and really feeling the burn of the chemicals. …) OUCH, OUCH, OUCH! Note to self…I will always have my Mom rinse my hair from now on!

Oh, btw, Mom…those contacts went down your drain. I hope they don’t clog your septic tank. (ha ha)

So, with that being said…it made me think of one of my ALL time favorite childhood photos…My Mom washing my hair.

I ran across the above picture as well when looking through an old photo album.

Thanks, Mom!
hi-d