I told my friend this morning that my hair is acting like a rebellious child.  It will not lay down, or sit down.  It will not straighten out.  It will not grow in the way that it should.  It will not submit to my wishes and needs. 

There are numerous and telling parallels between my children and the way my hair-line is right now.

For instance, should I be dark, or light?  Since birthing Will, my hair has been asking me this.  Apparently, it has decided that dark is the new light, because it is coming in like mid-night.  Or darker. 

Unfortunate hair

Should I be straight or wavy?  That is another profound question it is asking.  I would prefer straight, but these things are beyond my control.

Should I have bangs or not?  Gross.  My bangs are coming in, but not only in front. They are wrapped entirely around my head!

I used to have an ego that was so sensitive to style and appearance.  But, I have hit new lows lately.

More unfortunate hair

Last night was when the bottom fell out.  I stood in front of the mirror in disgust and said to Pat:

“That’s it.  I am tired of looking like a Mennonite”.  All straight part and hair pulled back.   He actually agreed that my hair-line could use some professional help.  And this was proven by his insistence that I “Go!”.  Course, being Pat he reminded me: “Use the Amex so we can get 2% back on your highlights”.

I am hoping that my ego will be getting more than a 2% raise back.

Today I had the best fall of my life.  I am not quite sure how it started, but it definitely originated in the poor combination of lack of sleep and desire to jog.  In-between crossing the railroad tracks and climbing to higher ground, I stumbled.  And crashed full-on, sprawled out on the pavement.   My hands are all scuffed up and sore, and I have a long scratch on my hip-bone.  I saw an elderly man stopped at a stop-sign, wondering whether to assist me or not.  But he didn’t want to be awkward, and I put my funny face on, had a little laugh at myself.  And limped off.

Humble pie.  You taste awful.

This is on the heels of honest conversation and some apology about laughing at the misfortunes and clumsiness of others.  Bad move, Maryanne.  I do not believe in Karma, but if I did, this would be my moment to see it manifested.

Nothing tickles my funny bone like a good fall.  My Dad is faithful to ring the phone and page me whenever he takes a spill from a ladder.  My sister will instantly inform me when she has splattered and tumbled to the ground.

And I wonder: “What is wrong with me?”  “Where did this disease of malice come from?”  “What about when I am old and my bones cannot hold together and I am hobbling everywhere?”  “Will Pat sit in his wheel-chair and cackle at me?”  “Will this ever end, this enjoyment of the unfortunate?”

I am humbled. Humbled to the dust on the ground- literally.  I picked gravel out of my palms and am wearing an XXL Band-Aid across my hand.  And I cannot wash my hair, except to swish my arm around and hope for the best.

What goes around comes around, doesn’t it?  Karma I do not abide by, but sanctification I do.

I need to stop laughing right now.