Days 7, 8, and 9.

I could come up with a great excuse as to why I haven't posted, but my brain doesn't work because I stopped smoking Friday.  Please note there are no pictures from that day.

Friday was, of course, full of determination.  Saturday was spent wondering if it was worth it.

This was literally a 2 minute hair day.  I spritzed, I waxed, I was done. 

At this point it was a little flat because I spent my nicotine detox day sleeping and eating.

I have GOT to get back to the gym because I am pretty sure I have eaten the equivalent of a horse in the past 72 hours.

Non-smoker Rebecca will eat your face off.

What's that?  You didn't know I smoked?  Well, that is because I have spent the past ten years telling myself I wasn't really a smoker.

Sure, I was buying two or three packs of cigarettes a week.  Okay, when I didn't have a cigarette, I yelled at EVERYONE in the vicinity.  Granted, every time I saw someone smoking on television, my fingers twitched. 

I finally admitted I couldn't "stop anytime I wanted."  I would have preferred some gum or patches, but that is not in the budget presently.  So Jason and I went cold turkey.  And ate everything in the house.  

Jason has been smoking since he was eleven, which makes this 23 years.  Suffice it to say, he is also having a bit of a rough time. 

I have to go have a snack now. 

Days Five and Six

Yesterday was a wee bit insane.  We have been having some plumbing problems, so I had to clean up about 6 ponds that had formed inside our house.  Plus, it was a class day, so between getting everyone else off to school and getting myself ready, I didn't really have the time from 6 am till 2:30 pm to find some solutions.

I wasn't feeling Nu Wave Punky yesterday, so I went with a more classic pixie style.  

The internet is the greatest thing ever.  I was at a bit of a loss as to how pixie styling is done, so I found Lyndsay and the Johnsons.  Her tutorial is totally easy to follow, and I have to say, I do look quite fabulous. 

Today is another story.  

I have been cleaning and dealing with mittelschmerz, so I did not even comb my hair today.  Honesty FTW!

Days 5 and 6 verdict:  Classic is cute, but bad hair days are BAD.

BAH. That is all.

I had every intention of writing about self esteem today.

Instead, I am writing my first paper of the semester (Inequality of Wealth Distribution on a Local Level for my Modern Social Problems class, if you're interested.)  So you get just  photos instead.

Today was the first day I didn't wash before styling...I like the pieciness, though it does kind of have a mind of its own.

Day 4 Verdict:  This hair totally thinks it is in the 1%, though I reside squarely in the 99.

Day 3...Headscarf

Today was the first day Jason looked at my hair and said, "Hey, that looks good!"

Please ignore the ceramic cowboy pumpkin on top of my fridge.

He has said, "I love it!", "You look gorgeous!", and "Of course I like it!" many times - because he is not new at this husband thing, and so spent his friday practicing those phrases.  

We both knew this would not be his favorite haircut.  He prefers long, wavy hair; once in a while, I will throw him a bone and grow it out to the length he likes.  In our 7+ years, though, he has supported every crazy decision I have made, no matter whether he thought it was the best choice.  

This doesn't just apply to my hair.  When I decided to go back to school to be a nurse, he completely supported me.  When I changed my major to education, he still supported me.  When I changed again to psychology, he told me to do what I thought was best.  When I returned to my first, long-held dream of being a college professor, he once again offered only support.  No matter that I will be in school for over eight years by the time I am done;  he wants me to be happy. 

Ceramic Cowboy Pumpkin likes to sniff Modge Podge.

And I want him to be happy.  So even though my hair is all about me, I was pleased this morning when he actually liked what my hair was doing.  I don't dress myself for him, I don't wear make-up for him; god knows, I shave my legs about three times a year, so obviously I count my opinion over his.  However...there is something to be said for the appreciative look in your partner's eyes when they like what they see. 

Day 3 Verdict: Ceramic Cowboy Pumpkin totally approves, too.

Day 2...The Year Really Begins

Yesterday, even after washing it, my hair was still doing that rebellious why-did-we-have-to-gooooo thing where it acts all wierd.  Today, it calmed down a bit, and started to actually look like a pixie.  I think I look like redheaded Tinkerbell.  Violet still thinks I look like a redheaded Beiber.

Jason works every other Saturday;  apparently, Saturday morning is a hot time to get your car's fluids checked and tires rotated. This was a working weekend, so the girls and I spent the day doing housework, watching Veronica Mars, and starting some Halloween crafts.  In fact, I only made it to 2 pm before changing back into yoga pants.

Though the last couple of weeks have been deliciously cool weathered, the past few days have seen the temperatures rocket back to the high nineties.  It was awesome to have no hair on my neck or piled on top of my head in this weather.

The biggest plan I had for today was to finish a large chunk of homework that involves a sociology paper, a history paper, and a religious studies paper that are all due next week.  However, it was fantastic to spend a few minutes roughing up my hair, and knowing that if I did have to leave the house, I was set to go.

Day 2 verdict: Laid Back and Comfy.

It Began with a Chop

Technically, it began a year ago.  After River was born in August, my graying and un-dyed-for-nine-months hair needed a change.  So I dyed it black with two pink streaks.

Then my hair started falling out in clumps, as it does after every pregnancy.  So I chopped it into an a-line bob.  Apparently, this was also a self-confidence low, because this was as close as I could find to a picture showcasing it.

Then the pink started to fade, so I dyed everything a maroon color.

Then Violet wanted to dye her hair pink.  I dip-dyed the ends of her hair the day after school let out for the summer, and did an all over pink on my head.  Which was...interesting.

Then the front of my a-line bob was getting ridiculous while waiting for the back to catch up, so I trimmed it. Myself.  Badly.  And could only style it like this, which took way to freaking long.

So I tried to put more layers into it. Again, by myself.  Badly.  I have no pictures of this because I spent that couple of weeks hiding my hair in ponytails and scarves.

Finally, I caved.  I made an appointment at the beauty school.  (aside: I am a huge proponent of getting your hair styled at a beauty school.  They are still learning, so they take their time, and there is always an instructor to correct any mistakes.)  I decided to do what I have been afraid of for years, having been told that fat girls should not get short haircuts.


I got a modified pixie.

It was terrifying.  And when it was done, I felt totally and completely exposed.  And though my hips, butt, and breasts would never allow for it, I felt I looked like a boy.

Plus, my husband asked if I had actually wanted Beiber's mom's hair.

However, it is terribly empowering.  I grabbed my hair fear by the nuts. I grabbed some hair wax and used it with wild abandon.  I began to enjoy the shapes my hair can make.

This morning, as I was playing with my hair, I decided to write about it.  When trying to decide on a hair cut, I spent hours googling "fat girls pixie cut" and kept coming up with the same pictures over and over again.  The most disturbing of which was actually of Val Kilmer.  So here I am.  Doing my part to empower the awesomely plump among us, not only by posting these, but by documenting the next year as it grows out.  I can't promise to keep this solely about hair, because so much of my self confidence resides in how I feel about my hair, but I do promise to keep it honest, yo.

Here's to a year of fabulous hair!