Never a bad hair day

I just watched my friend's two daughters, ages 5 and 3, get snazzy new haircuts from Snip-Its. I have to admit, that place is pretty awesome. I have always loved haircuts. The first cut I really remember is from when I was six, and I finally convinced my mom to let me cut my hair short. Well, by short I mean like Frodo in "Lord of the Rings." No really, it was 1986 and really did look like Frodo--a curly, rounded kind of mullet. But it was cute, right?

I'm not sure how old I am in this picture (a friend posted it on Facebook, so it's the only one I have of little Sara that's digital), but it's the same cut. Also, note that my mom's outfit is probably on the rack at Anthropologie right about now--yay 80's comeback. 

At some point in the not too distant future, we're going to need to get Maya's first haircut. Her hair in the back is longer than mine right now. It curls up on the ends, so we can get away with a few more months probably. 

She can even rock a full ponytail, and as pieces fall out, it just looks cute and messy in that way that people actually pay money for (like in "About a Boy," when Hugh Grant's character is at the salon getting his hair "carefully disheveled"). I would love to have her hair right now--style, color, everything.

Last week, I got this image on my phone after leaving the gym. When I came home, Anil looked at me at said, "I just worked really hard to braid a 15 month old's hair." Talk about commitment. 

I, however, could use a haircut some time soon. I haven't settled on a salon or hair stylist here. I have hair angst. I loved my stylist in Boston--Kevin. He was the best thing to happen to my hair since 1998 when I figured out how to start to wear it curly. He worked in a salon on Newbury Street, snazziest street in Boston, and I got a better cut and highlights for a lower total price than any place I've found in small-potatoes Charlottesville. I guess Charlottesville doesn't think it's small potatoes, because people must be willing to shell out for higher prices. I guess there's less competition. I even tried a "curly haircut." It was a good cut, but not better than how Kevin used to cut my hair for a less exorbitant fee. The curly cut was jaw-droppingly expensive, and the whole process took like three hours. My hair just doesn't need that kind of attention--its pretty cooperatively curly. So my search continues. Hopefully I'll be off the rebound from Kevin and have found a hair stylist with whom I can make a long term commitment here before Maya gets her first cut.

Till then I'm pretty excited about a brush I bought at Snip Its: the Knot Genie. Last night I started using conditioner in Maya's hair because after her bath, and after I towel it dry, I have to work pretty hard to get some knots out. I have the Skip Hop Hare set, which is just adorable, but using the brush then the comb, then still having to work through knots with the comb, is becoming too tedious. Most nights I end up waddling after Maya on my knees, leading with the comb, trying to get through the back of her hair one more time, as she runs over to grab a stuffed bear or a shoe or whatever else is not right where we're conveniently already sitting. I also got detangling spray for her; I'm assembling my pool arsenal for the summer. I'm so pumped. I have some cute swimsuits, now detangling spray (and I'll probably get another Knot Genie if this one works!), sunscreen, a great water-friendly hat that I got free during my Patagonia days. And two new bikinis for me--a necessity as it's the third incarnation of my body that summer has seen in as many years. There was pregnant Sara, then postpartum Sara, and now back to normal but just not quite the same Sara, of current season. 

I'm not sure how a post about Maya's hair morphed into musings on me in bikinis, but that's probably a good place to stop. I will not be posting a picture to go along with that train of thought quite yet. For now, you'll have to be satiated with my 80's curly haircut. 

a whimper not a bang

I was just catching up on my friend's awesome food blog and realized that she links to my site from hers. With a name like Goodnight Martini, I bet some people click hoping to find tales of gin-infused debauchery, only to find a mommy blog. And not even an active one, at that!

Of all things to prompt me to start writing again, I guess that's as good a reason as any. Comebacks are best made not with a bang but a whimper. Especially when it's a blog about a baby.

After all this time though, I guess Maya officially qualifies as a toddler. She walks like a pro and has a better vocabulary than some college students seem to display, at least in a few essays from my teaching days. Come to think of it, the way she enunciates her words is not unlike an inebriated college student.

After her first birthday, I had a few months of "what am I doing?" angst. I was mired in feeling like I should be writing--like really writing. Like "Antoine you need to get a job job." ('Treme, anyone? HBO?) Whatever that means. But you know what? I just didn't. I didn't make the time. I didn't take the time. And without time, you sure can't write much. Nothing anyone would ever want to publish or pay you for. Instead, I went to the park, went out to lunch, laid on the floor, blew bubbles, met friends for happy hours (that last one usually didn't involve Maya), watched entire seasons of Californication and Shamelss when I realized we had Showtime... you get the picture. Then my angst receded. I started to be okay with the idea that eventually I'd make writing a priority, but apparently not now. S'awright.

On Wednesday, Maya had her 15 month well visit with the pediatrician. She did great, but it involved two shots, so as a reward for the arduous morning, I took us to a local pizza place for lunch. I got two slices of our favorite, tomato, avocado and feta, to go, then proceeded to put the box on top of my car so I could open the door and put Maya in her carseat with both hands, tell Maya that I would probably drive away with it like that (thinking that acknowledgment would be like insurance), then do just that. I got home and realized the pizza was not to be found. Fortunately my mom would move mountains to see her granddaughter for an hour, so bringing us more pizza was no biggie. Later, I looked at my computer screen and confirmed my day-long suspicion that my contacts were in the wrong eyes. My Rx for each eye is just different enough that I couldn't be sure until I tried to read the screen and saw double.

So just know that one reason that I haven't been able to fit writing into my routine is that I'm too busy driving off with pizza boxes on my car and mixing up contact lenses. Apparently it takes all of my brain power to achieve even that level of functioning. Or maybe I just don't care that much to get things "right", in which case, writing this blog shouldn't be such a big deal. It shouldn't be a job job.

After all, does this look like someone who takes life seriously?