I’ve been letting my hair go gray. Earth shattering and so important, right? I know. It’s ridiculous. At any rate, it’s going gray and a couple of days ago, my kids cornered me to ask what was going on. I was playing on my iPad, sitting in my comfy reading chair, when the two walked up to me. I’m pretty sure Moxie was smacking a bat against the palm of her hand, and Franz was chewing gum obnoxiously, looking all tough like.
FRANZ: Mom. Come on. What’s happening with your hair?
ME: What do you mean?
MOXIE: Mom! You know what we’re talking about. The hair.
(Then there was a dramatic pause here as the camera that wasn’t filming us but should’ve been did some dramatic close-ups of my graying bangs, my eyes, a twitch in my cheek.)
ME: Well, I’m getting older and I’m just tired of dyeing it and I thought, you know, I’d become my authentic self.
MOXIE: What are you talking about? Authentic self? That makes no sense. We hate it!
ME: * blink blink blink *
FRANZ: No. Wait. It’s okay. You’re still pretty. We’ll get use to it. I mean, now, I guess, you’re kinda shiny…and….that’s…good?
(I nodded. My daughter then put the bat down and immediately burst into tears.)
MOXIE: But you look older and every time I look at you I think how old you are and that you’re going to die and I don’t want you to die and be dead so can you just put your hair back the way it was???
I’ve felt guilty about a lot of my parenting choices, but this was a new one for me. The idea that my hair color was traumatizing my kids. I mean, sure, they’ll get used to it, but I don’t really have the energy right now to work through Teachable Moments. So I scheduled an appointment at the salon in two weeks.
What can I say? I’m weak.