The hair tale

 I had a few requests for an after shot of the new hairdo, which prompted me to think back on the history of my hair.  And if you give a mouse a cookie...

I then spent the next hour looking through old pictures which prompted another post.

This picture marks the end of an era.  The end of childhood and proportionatly size teeth.  This picture also marks the beginning of the long hair phase.

I've spent the rest of my life trying to grow into those 2 front teeth.  You will also notice the blue hair elastic that adorns my slender wrist, I had no idea that habit started so young.

I distinctly remember the day in 6th grade that I decided overalls were cool.  My Mom took me to the store and we came home with a black coorderoy pair.  It was often worn with a lime green shirt.  Classy.  I've always been pretty fashion savey like that.

Jr. High brought with it the terrible idea of getting a perm.

Highschool came and the hair just grew.  My Mom would trim it now and then, but it was just there, just hair, and I didn't really care.  Senior picture.

Then I left the house, went to college, had an identity crisis and chopped my hair off short.  It didn't look so good, so naturally the best idea was then to dye it black.  I wasn't great at spending time on my hair anyway, so you can imagine how often I took care of those blond roots.  The best way to ensure a return to Europe is to make sure you look terrible in every picture.  The Greece and Italy pictures arn't so bad, but after a 3 week trip- the Eiffel tower and Stone henge pictues are painful. 

Then came Sophmore year and another identity crisis and dredlocks. 

Nasty, nasty, dredlocks.  At somepoint I came to my senses and realized this needed to be fixed.  Thankfully my parents decided some haircare was just the ticket for my Christmas present that year.  It took a few trips to different hair places.  A bleaching or two and then a dying back dark brown to finally get something figured out.

I I also had a roomate who was a hair wizard and introduced me to the world of highlights.

Then I met wonderful Tyler decided that all my crazy hair days were over.

But then I had another identity crisis and cut it short again.  I think the moral of this story is that every time I have an identity crisis- the hair goes.  

So did the move to Pittsburgh prompt the haircut, or was it the children constantly wanting to comb it into terrible knots, the baby grabbing and ripping, and the hairballs all over the house that did it?  Not to mention the fact it was always in a gigantic bun because my hair is so thick and I had to have it out of my face to think straight.  Time will tell.