What happened to my body?

It's a lament uttered inwardly (and outwardly) by mothers world-wide.  But, today I'm not talking about the "body" you might think.  I have come to accept that the "body" that was once wrapped in unique finds dug up in boutiques from coast to coast is now swathed in pieces cobbled together from Target and Goodwill.  I embrace (as much as I can) the new bulgy bits and that part right above my c-section scar that still has no feeling.  No, today I'm talking about a whole different kind of body that was also wrecked by the scourge of hormones - my hair.

I have always been a loud and proud "curly girl."  Inherited from my Dad, I have sported ringlets both short and long since my hair grew in at age 2 1/2.  I am not saying I haven't struggled with my hair identity.  I went through periods growing up when I would do anything to get my hair straight, only to walk outside and turn into an ill-groomed poodle.  But it was the day in middle school when I convinced my mom to take me to a hairdresser to get a spiral perm (stop laughing) that changed my life forever.  He wet my hair, scrunched it with his fingers, said "Don't touch it." and then charged us $15.  Voila!  A spiral "perm".

My pre-baby curls:

Then, one day I found out I was pregnant.  I thought, yay!  My hair will grow super fast!  It will be awesome and thick and lustrous.  But, it turned bad almost immediately with a large swath of my hair right in the "mohawk zone" going almost stick straight and the rest staying curly.  Hot.  So, I marched in to see my trusted stylist, Alyson, and said, "Cut it off."

The Short Cut - 'Cash Money':

Now, I have to take a brief aside here, Alyson Boarman is a genius when it comes to cutting, coloring and styling curly hair.  We have been together for 8 years now, and I wouldn't think about seeing anyone else.  Ever.  If ever you are in Minneapolis and need a great style, call the Uptown Hair District and ask for Aly.

Anyway, after I had Urban, I decided to start trying to grow it out again.  I wasn't sure what would happen, but it all seemed to come back exactly how it was before.  Score!  So, for a few years, I just let it grow.

The grow out years:

Then I became pregnant with Beringer.  This time, I did end up with that fast-growing, thick, lustrous hair I imagined...  But nothing could prepare me for the hair disaster that occured when I stopped breast feeding.  It.  Fell.  Out.

Yep.  About HALF of it, I would estimate.  In huge, nasty clumps.  Really?  First my figure and now my hair?  I am defined by my hair!  I am "the girl with the hair!"  (I was actually know as that by the VP of a major big box retailer who I worked for for 5 years.)  I can't lose my hair!  Deep breaths.  It didn't all fall out completely - thank god.  But a lot of it did.

Aly comforted me and trimmed it without taking away all the length, colored it so that the re-growth would blend flawlessly, and told me to be patient and wait.  It's been about a year now, and my hair is growing back.  It's about 6" long or so at this point - the new growth, that is.  But here's the kicker – it's not growing back the way it was.  I used to have these big looping ringlets that were easily straightened and bent to my liking.  They were probably about an inch to an inch-and-a-half in diameter. They were messy and I liked them.

The new hair?  The new hair looks like it was wound around a pencil!  The longer my new hair grows, the shorter it looks.  When my hair is wet it's past my shoulders.  Dry, it's about to my chin!  And body?  Holy crap!  I have always joked that my hair grows "out" not "down", but this is ridiculous!  The hair on top is growing straight up!  Well, I guess I shouldn't say, "straight" about anything pertaining to my fancy new locks, but UP it grows!

The new-age curl:

So, friends, it wasn't just my butt that got fat.  My hair got fat too!  And now I am struggling to find my new hair identity.  I'm scouring websites trying to come to terms with this entirely new texture that my hair has embraced.  How do I style it?  How do I tame it?  And, most importantly, how do I get the old curls to blend with the new?  Right now, when I get out of the shower I look a bit like a jelly fish - all puffy on top and scraggly on the bottom.  Alyson!  September 10th will not come soon enough!  I can't wait to see the magic you are able to conjure to make this heap look passable.  But, I have faith that you will.  You are a master.

And until then...  Many, many pony tails and braids.

Tuesday - Hostas of Doom #2 and #3 - Welcome to the Hairball

Mom's stuff arrived in 1 1/2 semis.  Mmmm.  That was a fun realization.  Although she had worked hard to sort through things, it was hard to do it alone, which I totally get.  So, much of it just got dumped into boxes and labeled for moving. 

After my hour and 45 minute round trip to drop off the boys, the first of 3 trips that would be made to the gas station for the week and a much needed stop for coffee - I stood on the drive and read each label as the 4 college dudes from the moving company transferred Mom’s life from townhouse to truck to our garage.  Mom was in transit to the cities, so she wasn't there to weigh in.  Trying to figure out what was imperative for her day-to-day life and what could be taken directly to the garage without her there was quite a feat.  Furniture that we thought would fit in certain rooms wouldn't and ended up in the garage too.    

When we finally saw her white Caliber pull around the bend, the guys were pulling the last items from truck 2.  And whose head do we see poking up from the passengers' seat?  Her little white cat, Bianca, who was supposed to have gone to live with someone else back in Mankato.  Apparently, the housing fell through, as in the woman stopped returning Mom’s calls, and Mom couldn't bring herself to take her to a shelter.  I totally get it... I do.  And, Hello, #2, you come in a cute little package, but frustrating you are indeed.  

Now we had to find a place for Bianca.  She has, in the past, “marked her territory” in somewhat unpleasant ways, and with 3 other cats in the house, we just couldn't take the risk.  Brett and I loaded Bianca into a cat carrier and headed out to a shelter in Golden Valley (about 20 minutes from home) to drop her off before we picked up the boys in Roseville (another 20 minutes or so) to take them for haircuts in Uptown (about 15 minutes door to door) then straight home for dinner.  

Best laid plans, right?  The shelter was full.  Of course it was.  But!  We were in luck!  The Woodbury shelter had an opening, but we couldn’t get an appointment until 6:15 that evening.  It was 3:20.  Well, I guess Bianca was going to get a little more road tripping in.

We headed off to Roseville, Bianca’s carrier wedged between the two car seats in the back of our Scion xA.  A cozy little arrangement, to say the least.  

We made sure to park in the temperature controlled ramp under the Uptown Hair District while the boys got their haircuts by Auntie Alyson (Daddy too - Brett and I have been going to Alyson for about 8 years now.  She is the absolute best especially with naturally curly hair.  She is my hair soul mate.)  

Urban decided to keep his hair long, and Beringer just needed a trim, so we walked down the street and got ice cream at Jackson's Coffee and Gelato so Daddy could enjoy a little quiet salon pampering before our hour and fifteen minute rush hour drive from hell to Woodbury.  ::insert weak smile here::

BTW: if you get a chance to go to Jackson's the gelato is AMAZING and their kids' cones are only 60¢!  They are little tastes that are perfect for not feeling guilty for giving them ice cream before dinner.  Urban had the mango gelato and Bering had lemon sorbet.  Both were fantastic!

Newly coifed, we loaded all the boys back in the car with our napping fur-covered companion and headed East.  The highways were bumper to bumper, so we took to the city streets blazing a trail through Minneapolis and St. Paul before getting back on the highway to finally land where we needed to be.  The lady at the shelter let me know that we needed to have all paperwork filled out prior to our appointment, so Brett quizzed me on Bianca’s details as we wove through the Twin Cities.  I was impressed that he could still maintain pristine handwriting even over all the potholes.  

We also we warned that the appointment could take up to 45 minutes.  That sounds like super fun with two kids under 5 and a waiting area the size of my cubicle, so the boys dropped me off with the cat and headed off to Smash Burger for dinner.  Everyone loved their meals, and the staff at the Woodbury Smash Burger was amazing.  The assistant manager actually picked up a screaming Beringer and held him while Brett paid the bill and then carried him out to the patio so Daddy could carry the food.  Very cool people.

The shelter was very nice and explained the battery of tests that Bianca would have to complete before they could make a decision on whether or not they could keep her.  They would let me know in approximately 7days.

Note:  She passed with flying colors and will now live happily there until someone adopts her.  If you are interested in a sweet white cat with eyes two different colors and a hearing impairment click here.

When we got home we got the boys to bed and sat down at the dining room table to relate all of the drama to Mom, who had been home trying to find her toothpaste and create some semblance of order in her life, when Brett called from the kitchen, “Hey!  Why are the garbage bags wet?”

Oh, you mean the garbage bags under the sink?  Mmm… apparently that is because the seal around the coupling that joins the pipe to the drain on the kitchen sink has disintegrated to a crumbly cookie-looking substance and now all the liquids that we put down said drain just collect directly in the cabinet below.  “Should we can a plumber?”

Brett just looked at me. And without blinking shoved a giant Rubbermade container under the leak and shut the door.  Welcome home, #3.  Welcome home.