Can Someone Please Find My Hair From 2004?

Why is it that I have no problem going months at a time without having my own hair cut, colored, or highlighted, but the second my child’s hair seems like it might be a millimeter too long, I rush her in for a hair cut?  Why does toddler hair trump my own?  Better yet, I bring Greenleigh to the same kids hair cut place every time she needs to get it done, and I discuss with the same stylist the “plan for her hair”.  Because a 3 year old’s hair is complicated.  Clearly, she has a style.  I’m even a little embarrassed to admit that I’ve thought about  having Hazeline’s hair trimmed, especially considering she doesn’t have much hair to begin with.  Cutting the little that she has would be doing her a major disservice.  People already think she’s a boy because of her lack of hair, I don’t need to make it worse.  But then again, she’s 16 months old, she should be due for a hair cut soon, right?  Have I missed a milestone?

And yet, I sport my dark roots and split end without so much as batting an eye.  I mean, you can barely tell how bad it is when I put it in a ponytail, so what does it matter?  Besides, I rock a ponytail.  I don’t have a regular person or place that does my hair.  And I’m not going to tell you the number of months that go by before my hair gets any attention.  For real, don’t ask – I won’t tell you.  South Florida prices don’t help either – seriously, what’s up with them charging to blow dry my hair?  Twenty-five dollars?  Are you serious?  You got it wet when you shampooed it.  Why do I have to pay to dry it again?  I walked in with dry hair, you wet it, and now I have to pay?  I don’t understand.  But with four whole (child-less) days in New York City and my first big blogging conference on the horizon, I decided to suck it up, spend the money, and get my hair professionally done.

I didn’t want anything new or crazy, I just wanted to get back my hair from March 2004.  Perhaps I should back up.  Prior to March 2004, I had never had my hair colored.  Ever.  You know all those people who experimented by dyeing their hair all sorts of colors when they were in school?  I wasn’t one of them.  I was far too scared.   Because hair color lasts forever, in my mind at least.  But in 2004 a cousin of mine was getting married and I wanted to look nice for the event.  Erajh would be joining me for the wedding and suggested I get my hair done.  I agreed and off to the salon I went.

I had no idea what I wanted to have done, but the stylist, Michael, seemed to know exactly what needed to be done.  For 3 hours he worked hard to make my hair pretty, and he succeeded.  When I left the salon that day it looked the best it’s ever looked, although at the time, it felt a bit shocking.  Over time, I got used to it and when I look back on it, the pictures I have from my cousin’s wedding are of my hair at its ultimate peak – the perfect color, great length, and a shine that seemed to come out of nowhere.  Oh how I want that hair back.  (This is where I’d love to post a picture of my awesome 2004 hair, but those pictures were on our computer was stolen when some dirtbag broke into our house a few years ago.  Luckily, they didn’t take much, but they did take our computer that had the picture.  I have a picture framed but my scanning skills are not awesome.)

And yet, since then, my 2004 hair has remained elusive.  Trapped in time, perhaps never to be worn again.  I went to Michael, and although got close, he couldn’t quite get it the same.  Other stylists in the same salon couldn’t do it.  And my mom’s favorite stylist that she’s been using for 20 years can’t do it.  It always ends up too shockingly blonde, then on my next visit I tell the stylist not to go overboard on the blonde, only for them to dull my hair down, and leave me missing the blonde that was so shocking the time before.  Then on my next visit I would tell them that I wanted it blonder, just to be shocked by the result.  Lather.  Rinse.  Repeat.

So this weekend when I brought along the picture from that wedding back in 2004, I wasn’t terribly hopeful.  As the stylist and I chatted before she got to work, I felt we had a major disconnect because she used the word “bleach” more than once.  Um, no.  Not what I’m going for.  I even considered just walking out…a few times.  I wanted it subtle.  Much more subtle than when I got it done the last time in December 2-3 months ago.  And subtle is what I got, because when I got home my husband announced that my hair looked exactly like it did when I left the house.  Prepare for shocking blond in a few months, people.

Perhaps I should just stick to the kid’s hair cut place down the street?  They do a great job on Greenleigh’s hair and always seem to capture my vision.