In the past month, Paul must have prefaced 20 sentences with the phrase “when we move to Michigan…” That is not to include other statements like “unless we’re somewhere colder next year.” It’s been really good for him to think this way, as it reduces his stress and frustration that housing, while dropping, is still out of reach, and the public schools are scary (to say nothing of the news… just don’t watch the news… no matter what.)
I’m really fine with whatever happens. With as much as we’ve moved, and to all the diverse locations, I’m pretty confident when I say that we can be happy anywhere. (After all, we used to say we’d live anywhere but Utah or Southern California and we actually like it here.
The hardest thing about leaving California, when and if it ever happens, won’t be Disneyland (surprised?), nor the plethora of children’s museums, nor even the opportunity to take a walk nearly every day of the year. Ther hardest thing about leaving California will be leaving our friends. To that I would like to add that the only short haircuts I’ve liked have all been here. April is one amazing hairdresser!
I had been working both Paul and Boy Blue up for a while for the news that I would be cutting my hair. Boy Blue is not only a puller, but a twister, biter, and gnawer. I just couldn’t take it any longer. The best solution was to pull my hair back in a braid, but that wasn’t foolproof either. After months of that, even I was getting tired of my frumpy style. Added to the frump was the disheveled look I always had from the little one, and I finally couldn’t take it any longer.
I really made Paul nervous. In some of my more desperate moments I claimed to want a pixie cut, or a full buzz. He didn’t know when to take me seriously and was very concerned with the whole prospect, but understood that I was my own woman and that I couldn’t continue this any longer. On Saturday he solemnly drove our family out to Upland for my haircut. Before he and Kevin went out to pick up the food he beseeched April not to make me look like a “butch lesbian.” She found his nerves endearing and screamed, “oh no, Heather, I’m sorry!” when we heard the boys come back in.
It’s shorter than it has ever been since I met Paul, but he surprisingly likes it. I love it. It’s longer than my chin, but not as long as to touch my shoulders. It feels so good. Not wierd, not even for a second. It’s the first short haircut I’ve had that didn’t take getting use to. (And yes, it was 8 inches so I was able to donate again to Beautiful Lengths.)
April is clearly a winner with my haircuts. Paul likes them, I like them, and they’re cute and still low-maintenance. When/if we ever leave California, I will miss her friendship, and her skills.