Tag Archives: hair

May16

She got a haircut.

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She got a haircut.

Analie’s trademark for her entire life has been her Shark Fin.  Her adorable, stick-straight-up-in-the-air hair that could not be tamed.

But the fin was getting so long that it was becoming more of a fuzz ball in the back of her head.  Over the weekend, the fin just laid down and would not get back up no matter how much coaxing we tried.  It looked like she had a creepy two inch long combover.  And then we realized that if she smiled less, added a funky little mustache and aged fifty years, Girlfriend was starting to look like Hitler.

The shark fin/combover HAD TO GO.

Combover!

Mommy, what's a Hitler?

Someone HATES that I tied her fin into a ribbon to save for posterity...

Bald baby!

Nov9

38 weeks HUGE

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38 weeks HUGE

I got my hairs cut this afternoon.  I could not handle my hair touching my shoulders, so I walked into Mia & Maxx and said CHOP IT ALL OFF.

Two inches and a whole bunch of layers later, it was back to the way I liked it when we lived in Texas.  (I have been having communication problems when I’ve been trying out new stylists here.  It’s probably my own fault.)

To make matters even more tricksy, I didn’t tell Joey what I was doing and I wasn’t quite home yet when arrived from work.  He came out front to meet me and said, “WOAH, you got your hair cut.  It looks nice.”  And in the very next breath, “Aren’t you happy that I noticed right away?”

After dinner, which was a totally delicious meal of panko baked Tilapia with a (not what you would call fat-free) herbed cream sauce we both love, we decided we ought to take another picture of my recent expansion.  Because who knows when I’ll have this child and then maybe I can tie my own shoes again!  That would be ridiculous.  I might even wear socks if it meant I could tie my own shoes.  (I don’t like socks.  They make me feel claustrophobic and stressed out.)

So.  Here we are.

I look at that picture and I wonder why I’m not uncomfortable except at night.  Who knows.

And I know you’re probably coveting the sweet drapes we have hanging from the window in the left of the picture (I mean, I would be) but NO you can’t have them.  They were discontinued so now they’re like gold plated drapes instead of just regular old drapes.

Joey also decided to take a picture of me facing the camera, which I normally don’t like to do since I am nearing Orca Whale size.  However, this one is kind of awesome.

I just feel like this picture sums up my entire day.

And no, you still can’t have the drapes.

Mar28

Sunday Morning Haircut

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Sunday Morning Haircut

We slept in a little bit this morning because instead of going to Grace for church, we’re heading up to Chase Oaks because my high school youth pastor from Iowa (Greg) is now the arts pastor there, and he’s doing a painting during the worship service.  I think it will be super awesome and I can’t wait to see it.

Greg has also been awesome for Joey over the last year, meeting him for lunch, helping him figure out youth ministry stuff, and giving him ideas about…lots of things.

So anyway, we were sleeping in.  Because we don’t have to be at Chase Oaks until 11:00.

Henry woke us up at 8:30 and so immediately Joey rolled over and asked me if I’d like to cut his hair.

Uh, not really, no.

But I’ve literally been putting it off for about, oh, two weeks.  He’s starting to look like a shaggaly monster.  So I agreed and that is why, at 8:44, I am sitting here typing away telling you, Internet, that I’m about to give a Sunday morning haircut.

Sometimes life is kind of weird if you ask me.

Jan26

It’s the only kind of ironing I don’t totally hate

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It’s the only kind of ironing I don’t totally hate

About a year ago I announced to Joey that I was ready for a new flat iron, because the one I had was just not cutting it anymore.

“What’s a flat iron,” he asked.

Sigh.

After I explained it to him (it’s that thing that straightens hair, in case you were wondering also) he wasn’t sure it was really that important.

And I was all, BUT MY HAIR LOOKS WEIRD.

Suffice it to say, nothing ever happened and I forgot about wishing for a new flat iron; well, I sort of forgot.

Then, last week, it started pulling my hair.  On top of not heating up well and all the other stuff I don’t like about it.  I mean, I got it in 2001 for $20, so I’d say it has served me well.  But it’s GERIATRIC.  And it wasn’t even good quality when I bought it, because I was in college when I suddenly realized that I was doing my hair all wrong and – HELLO! – everyone was using flat irons and I was still using a curling iron!!!

And then I made a speedy trip to Wal-Mart.

Over the weekend, I got tired of my hair getting pulled by the flat iron.  ”I HATE THIS THING,” I yelled to Joey.

I had to re-explain what a flat iron was, because it had been a year since we had this conversation, but once we were all on the same page, he acknowledged that we had decided I could replace my flat iron. In January.  Of 2009.

Somehow I had forgotten, which is kind of amazing to me.  Because I’m usually all over this type of thing.  So I got on Folica.com and started researching flat irons.  To make matters more complex, I wanted to get a dual-voltage one (because you just never know) and I wanted digital temperature control.

I KNOW, I KNOW, so high maintenance.

But I finally found it, and it was on sale.  And then I found a promotional code and got 10% off.  LOOK AT IT IN ALL ITS DIGITAL, LASER, TOURMALINE GLORY!

So now I’m just waiting for it to come home to me.  I am hoping it solves pretty much all my hair problems.  I’m pretty sure it will.

Jan3

Sunday Evening Randoms

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Sunday Evening Randoms

Firstoff, I think I need to just go ahead and announce that I hate getting my hair cut.  I think it’s boring and I absolutely hate sitting still for the two whatever hours it takes to get the whole process complete.  I anticipate hair cuts simply because my hair is driving me insane by the time I finally make it to the salon, but once I get there I’m just like: CUT MY HAIR and don’t even style it please, I can style it myself.

Pretty weird if you ask me.

Secondhand (which I know does not follow “firstoff”, but in this case I just felt like using it), several weeks ago I started reading my favorite series again.  I do this about once every year or two and from the minute I pick up the first book, it’s like catching up with old friends.

Hello, Elisa it has been awhile; how are you?  And your father, how is he?  Oh?  I forgot that happened, do tell me some more.

And we go on like that for six entire books.  It’s my favorite.

Well, Elisa ditches out after book three and makes a few appearances in books 4-6, but by then I’m catching up with all my other old friends and I don’t mind so much.

This year, I noticed Joey eyeing my books as I’ve been reading through them like a string of dominos, and I handed him book one and told him to just start it already.

It took him an entire week to summon the gumption to read my book.  It was, by all appearances, a girl book.  HISTORICAL FICTION, if you will.  (Germany and Austria in 1936, to be specific.)

On Monday or so, he finally started it.  The first few pages were rough, he couldn’t pronounce “Guarnerius”, much less tell you that it was a kind of violin, nor could he keep several of the characters straight.  Theo?  Elisa?  WHO IS THIS THOMAS GUY?  And Franz?  Oh, what is the Sudetenland?

By Tuesday, he had read a few more pages and had stopped carrying on about the number of characters.

On Wednesday, we had company so he didn’t read much.

Thursday and Friday my grandparents were here, but I noticed him sneaking peeks at the book now and then.

Saturday and Sunday?  He can’t put it down.  We were supposed to leave ten minutes ago to take Henry to get his nails trimmed, but when I finally located Joey he was on the couch with the book saying, “It’s not my fault, YOU are the one who gave me this book to read and now I can’t get anything else done!”

I told him it was good.  All these years he wouldn’t listen to me.

Now maybe I can get him off the couch so we can go.  Or, by the looks of him, maybe not.

Jul8

He trusts me.

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He trusts me.

I had to go pick up some stuff at the mall last night, mainly hair products at Aveda.  Joey forgot his shampoo and conditioner in Iowa, and I was almost out of mine.

Let me just take a moment to unabashadely plug Aveda’s Scalp Benefits shampoo.  OH MY GOSH.  I started using it in January.  Because I inherited a really finicky scalp from one of my parents (I will not say who, lest I get removed from The Will again) I can’t find a shampoo that keeps my head happy for more than a few months at a time.  Once my head gets unhappy, then the rest of me gets unhappy and my hair starts disappearing.  Seriously, people.

Anyway, the Scalp Benefits has miraculously changed that.  I haven’t been so comfortable with my own head in a long time.

So I waltzed into Aveda yesterday evening and quickly found Joey’s stuff and some hairspray for me.  Since I got the hairspray that was considerably cheaper than the aerosol kind I usually get, I also threw in some travel shampoo and conditioner for Joey so he doesn’t have to leave his in Iowa again.

I noticed that this was getting slightly expensive, but I had my double points coupon and Joey had told me to get all this stuff.

I stood there in front of the Scalp Benefits display for, oh, probably five minutes.  Should I get the small bottles which are cheaper NOW…or should I get the large bottles which are much cheaper LATER…I debated.

After two rounds of this internal debate, I left the store with two very, very large bottles of Scalp Benefits shampoo and conditioner.

“The pumps are free,” the sales clerk said when I asked him if they sold any, because there was no way I was hefting a heavy, one liter bottle of shampoo in the shower.  I could already see that would be a disaster.

Unfortunately, I parked much further away from the store than I realized when I did it, and lugging a large, heavy bag of hair products is not an easy thing to do.

I began feeling guilty on the way home for spending so much money.  I could have gone with the smaller bottles, that would have been fine.

“Uh….I’m home,” I said, after dragging myself up the stairs.  My right arm was killing me and I was dreading taking the large bottles back to the store.  “I…spentatonofmoney,” I mumbled.

“How much?” Joey asked, looking at the LARGE bag I carried.

I told him.

“WOAH!” he laughed.  “WHAT did you BUY?”

I displayed my purchases on the kitchen table (he was very pleased with his travel bottles, I think they may have distracted him from the shock of my large shampoo bottles) and explained the save money now vs. save more money later bit about the liter bottles, and how they will last me for at least two years.

“You don’t have to justify your purchases to me,” Joey said.  “You’re a smart girl, this helps your scalp, and I know you don’t just go blowing money to blow money.  You figured it, this saves money and it makes sense to you, so it makes sense to me.  I trust your judgment.”

“Oh.” I said.

That was not what I had expected.

Here I had myself all worked up and nervous that he would be like, “YOU ARE A WASTEFUL AND SPOILED PERSON!”  (Actually I don’t know why, he’s never said that to me before.)

It’s nice to know that Joey trusts me, even when I spend a ridiculous amount of money on two years worth of shampoo and conditioner.

Jun24

Two Really Weird Things Happened To Me Last Night

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Two Really Weird Things Happened To Me Last Night

The title sums it all up.  And the Two Really Weird Things both happened after 10:00, which is pretty much past my bedtime.  Also they both involve Joey.

First Weird Thing That Happened

I was sitting in bed, leaning against my freshly scented pillow (lavender and chamomile pillow spray is my friend) reading P&P when Joey looked at me really funny, like he had to say something but wasn’t sure how to start.

“I have to tell you something.  And…and I think it’s something you suggested awhile ago, so I am just preparing myself for the inevitable ‘oh I already suggested that like a year ago and you said it was a bad idea’ that you are going to have the right to say,” he said, standing at the foot of the bed and twisting the down comforter in his hands.

WHAT in the WORLD could he be about to tell me?! I racked my brain and couldn’t think of any crazy suggestions I had made lately, so I just said, “OK, lay it on me.”

“I think we should try a meatless diet for a week,” he blurted out.

He was right.  I had suggested that a year ago, and I will spare you from having to read the protests, whines and “I AM NOT EATING THAT CRAP” type stuff he yelled after I suggested it.

I was speechless.  Joey is an Iowa boy down from the stray hair I may have missed last night when I giving him his summer cut to his baby toenail.  He happily and without protest eats meat, potatoes and biscuits.  I have gotten him to eat lasagna and spaghetti in the four years we’ve been married, and last night I made a Thai Chicken dish that he LOVED.  (I was shocked.  Absolutely shocked.  I was prepared to have to eat it all myself for leftovers for the next three days.)  But…no meat?  For a week?

“Are you feeling OK?” I asked.

“Yes, I feel fine.” He pouted.

“What…why…are you SURE?!” I asked.

“Yes.  I wasn’t being very open minded when you suggested it last year.  I know I eat too much meat, but I think I’m mature enough to try it now.  So maybe in August when we get back from Mexico we can come up with some menus together?”

Gosh, when he puts it like that…of COURSE we can try it in August!

(Trying it in August isn’t putting it off, really, because next week is too soon for a menu revamp, the following week he heads to the East Coast for work for a week and a half, then we go to Mexico, and then all of a sudden it’s pretty much August.)

I’m glad I have a month and a half to come up with tempting tasties for us to try together.  Maybe I can sample one a week from now until then so I don’t make a bunch of recipes he thinks are grody.

I absolutely NEVER thought I would hear those words come out of Joseph Allen Woestman’s mouth, but I like to be surprised by him.

And on to the Second Weird Thing That Happened

I had just set down P&P and was about asleep when Joey leaned over and took a really, really deep breath.

“Oh good, your hair doesn’t smell like burnt Spaghetti Os anymore,” he said.

I was awake real fast after that.

“WHAT?” I said.

“Well, when you had that one kind of shampoo it always made your hair smell like burnt Spaghetti Os…” he said, kind of drifting off.

“It DID?” I wailed.

“Well, I never wanted to tell you because I thought I’d hurt your feelings.  But it smells very nice now, I like the kind you switched to.”

Oh that makes me feel a lot better.

“Which kind exactly was it that you thought smelled like this?” I asked.

“Um, I can’t remember.  Pretty much all of them except for the kind you are using now.”

Helpful.  Helpful.

Well, folks,  I guess Biolage, Paul Mitchell and Rusk shampoo make your hair smell like burnt Spaghetti Os, but Aveda is fine.

I am never buying anything but Aveda again, as long as I live.  And I may or may not have already developed a complex.

Mar24

The Secret Patch

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The Secret Patch

Last night I was exhausted.  Joey and Matt were talking about seminary and life and lofty things like that, and Molly was reading on the couch.  So, just in case I fell asleep while reading,  I flopped down on the bed about 10:00 and read until I finally couldn’t stay awake anymore.  By this time it was nearly 10:45, so I tiptoed over to the bedroom door, cracked it just enough and shouted, “JOEY, are you coming?”

(But then, I “shout” like my mom, so my version of shouting is more like loud talking.)

Sure enough, about ten minutes later, he arrived.  I was mostly asleep by then, so he messed with my hair for a few moments.  Then, “WOAH!”

“Whaaaaaat,” I mumbled.

“You have a whole bunch of gray hairs right here,” he indicated The Secret Patch of gray that I hide.

“I know, that’s been there for awhile.  I always pull them out, but I’m too tired right now,” I said.

“I can pull them out,” he offered.

“Um, no.  I think I’ll get them later,” I said.  “But thank you.”  (You wonder why I didn’t take him up on it?)

“You have tons,” Joey said, reassuringly.  “They’re shorty and squiggly and kind of PREEEEEIIIIIING!“

The last word was a sound effect.  I assume he was trying to communicate to me via soundage what my little gray hairs do.  They are, in fact, quite PREEEEEIIIIIING! (if you want to put so fine a point on it) and they kind of poke out all rebellious-like.

“Put The Secret Patch away,” I mumbled. “It’s supposed to be hidden.”

“Ok,” Joey agreed, pushing my hairs back and patting the the spot where The Secret Patch was now hidden. “You’re getting old,” he said.

So old, in fact, that I immediately rolled over and fell asleep.  It was way, way past my bedtime.

Feb3

The One About Hair

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The One About Hair

I woke up at 3:30 this morning feeling kind of awful, and after that all I did was have strange, strange dreams.  I assume that you can imagine how, when my alarm went off at 6:15, I felt like I’d run a marathon (which we all know I can’t do), so I slapped the snooze.

I got up early enough to do a once-through on my daily crossword (YAY – we found the New York Times Daily Crossword Calendar at Barnes and Noble for $3.25 on clearance!  SCORE FOR ME!) and put away the clean laundry that Joey had folded.  After that it was go time, and if I had skipped the crossword we probably wouldn’t have been five minutes late getting out the door.

Poor Joey.

In the car on the way down, I mentioned that I’d had strange dreams and was exhausted.  “The worst one was about the hair appointment I have on Thursday.  I dreamed that I was getting a hair glossing treatment after my trim, and my stylist is like, ‘Yeahhhhh, I don’t know if we’re going to let you come back here.  The salon manager doesn’t really like you; he thinks you don’t have a personality and he’s not sure we want people like you representing the way we cut hair.’  So then I was like, ‘BUT I DO HAVE A PERSONALITY! Which one is he, I’ll go prove it!’  But that’s all I remember.  I’m not sure if I have to find a new hair salon for my next dream or not.”

“Huh,” Joey said.  He can’t really relate since I’m the one that cuts his hair.

“Plus I have to go there.  Everywhere else is too expensive,” I said.  Then I felt ridiculous for defending myself against my dream.  (But seriously, I love my salon.)

I really do have a hair appointment on Thursday, too.  And now I’m all worried they’re going to fire me from getting my hair cut there…is that even possible?

Jun2

busybusy

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busybusy

Joey’s doing summer school right now. He’s going to wipe out 15 credits by the time the Fall semester starts so, needless to say, I’m still making myself scarce on Saturday afternoons and for an hour or two each evening so he can read in peace. (I really can’t complain because all this insanity will get us done a semester early.) Two more weeks of this nonsense and then we can both have a break for the month of July. I think we’re going to need it.

Last evening, as he was reading away, I knew I’d better give Henry his summer haircut or regret it all week. I really don’t like giving Henry a haircut because it’s hot, sticky, itchy job. But it has to be done, and doing it myself saves $70, so it’s worth it.

I got all the necessary junk out on the back balcony and called poor Henry over. He knew what was coming, I could tell by the way he was dragging his paws. Poor little guy hates getting haircuts as much as I hate giving them.

But in record time, we were finished. I had trimmed his ears down so short that I pretty much had to shave his entire body down to the skin, and he was now pink, gray and spotted all at the same time. In an effort to improve Henry’s hygiene, I took the guard off the clippers and shaved his underlings down to the skin.

Apparently I shaved a little bit too much, though, because I got half of his hind legs in the process.

“Oh. No.” I said to poor Henry as he stood up and shook off. When he turned around I had gotten a good glimpse of what I’d done to the poor kid’s backside. “Your father is going to kill me.”

Just then I heard a gasp come from the other side of the sliding glass door. There was Joey, gaping at poor Henry’s backside. He was obviously taking a break from reading. The door slid open and Henry ran inside to do laps around the coffee table, his standard “I just got a haircut and now I’m wild and crazy” dance.

“I can’t believe it!” Joey said, “You made him look like one of those monkeys with the pink hairless backsides! The poor guy!”

“It’ll grow back…” I trailed off.

It definitely will grow back, but until it does I have one very strange looking, hairless-bummed dog. And Joey’s probably not going to let me live it down, either! Maybe tomorrow I’ll post some pictures of the poor thing.