Vanity...

So today I got a wild hair.
Okay, I have a few wild hairs. 
I noticed them in the mirror a few days ago staring back at me...mocking me really as I tried to hide them with no luck.
Funny how my dark brown hair doesn't hide the bright gleaming streaks of grey very well - or you know, at ALL.
I pushed them under, I braided it, I did everything I could, but each time I passed a mirror, there they were - mocking me - taunting me - reminding me of my eventual loss of youth.
So, I did what any smart person would do, I went to Wal-Mart and bought myself a nice little box with a beautiful youthful looking woman on it that promised fantastic results in ten minutes or less.
Being that I'm a busy mom - the whole ten minute thing REALLY appealed to me.
It has to be said that I'm not  a stranger to the world of altering my appearance using salon products.  In fact, I grew up in a household where my parental units TAUGHT at beauty schools and OWNED their beauty shops - so you know, this type of thing is second nature.  I've always had access to the best of the best products - and have never had an issue of green hair or orange, or you know - completely sizzled off.  Never.
So I got home, ripped open the box - tossing the instructions aside ... who needs those anyway, not me - I'm a seasoned veteran! Instructions - puh lease... and proceeded to mix the color crème with the color activator.
When I opened the color activator - and the whiff of strong chemical wafting up my nostrils and burning the insides of my nasal cavity causing my eyes to immediately tear up and blur my vision SHOULD have been a clue - but it wasn't.  Carry On I thought, It just smells bad...I've never met hair color that DIDN'T stink a little bit...
carry on.
Move forward.
I dump the tube of color into the activator, replace the cap and shake.
And shake some more.
I remove the lid and replace it with this dandy little comb thingy that is supposed to make application a breeze.  I put on the gloves.
I touch the comb to my head and squeeze the bottle.  The putrid smelling oooze attacks my head and starts to slide down my hair follicles.
Then it hit me.
Apparently mixing the color crème with the color activator has caused some sort of magical chemical reaction and the strong burning smell I experienced before has now grown, ten fold. 
Carry on.
Move Forward.
Too late to turn back now.
My eyes are burning.  My nostrils are completely seized up from the smell.  The burning sensation has moved to my throat and lungs.
I can't stop now, the oozy thick toxic goop has already invaded my hair space.  If I remove it now, I'll end up looking like a calico cat, can't have that.
Carry on.
Move forward.
Gasping. For. Breath.
After about 3 minutes of trying to use the "handy comb" tool and press this through my hair, I give up. In desperation I take the top of the squeezy bottle off and dump the entire contents of the bottle onto my head and start rubbing it in - shampoo style.
Then I remember. I have Psoriasis.  My scalp is covered in nice scabbed over wounds.  This protective coating is no match for the primordial toxic slime that I've decided to cover my entire scalp with, and am now rubbing the entire surface of my head to make sure it gets good coverage.  The burning sensation that was in my throat and nostrils is no match for the sensation that I'm now experiencing on my scalp.  It is not a slight tingle.  It isn't even a minor itch.  The only thing I can use to explain the sensation that has now taken over is sheer and complete pain.  Something like a thousand ants biting simultaneously.  I bite my lip and move forward.  I've just about got all the hair covered, and then I just need to endure it for ten minutes.
I can do anything for ten minutes, right?
I plop all the gooey hair up on top of my head and set the timer on my phone for ten minutes.  I leave my bathroom in an effort to get some fresh oxygen and clean air.  I come downstairs where my four year old is intently watching my every move.
Are you okay mommy?  Why are you crying mommy?  Mommy your head is bleeding!
No, no it isn't sweetie, it's just a special shampoo that mommies use sometimes.
I look in the mirror, my head does in fact look like I've suffered a major head wound and am using my hair to hold back the blood.
9 minutes to go.
The burning sensation has amplified and I can barely speak my own name - words are getting caught in my throat.
My daughter is insisting that we call daddy - something is wrong, mommy is crying and her head is obviously covered in blood.  Plus, there's a smell - and it's really bad mommy - call daddy....we neeeed to call daddy.
Great, I've scarred my child for life over a few grey hairs.
Grey hairs, that's right, they will not prevail. 
Move on
Carry forward.
5 minutes to go.
The room is spinning.  I'm not sure that I'll be able to make it the next five minutes.  I've clearly lost the ability to think coherently and I'm pretty sure that not only did the chemical smell start to kill off valuable brain cells, but the ooze must be attacking them directly at the source, considering I gave them such easy access and all.
3 minutes.
I start up the stairs, I assume by the time I get up there, it'll be time to rinse out.  It isn't .  I need to wait another 2 minutes and 50 seconds for the timer.   I busy myself trying to clean up the mess I'd made during the application process.  My bathroom looks like the stage from a very badly produced horror film.  In my haste to get the burning toxic ooze all over my head, I apparently paid no attention to the tub, the floors, the walls, or the sink which are now all spattered with dark reddish brown spots and splatter patterns.  My face also has become striped like a demented zebra from the drips running down from my hair to my chin.
Thank goodness we have no plans this weekend.
Grey hairs.
It's worth it.
Move on.
Carry Forward.
Timer sounds.
Thank Goodness...I plunge my head into a sink and start the cold water.  This is where the Arizona factor comes in.  The water isn't cold.  Of course not. How could it be, it's 110 degrees outside and the pipes rest very near the surface.  Now, not only is my head covered in fun chemical goodness, but I've just scorched it with the hot water that was sitting in the pipes.
I open my mouth to scream, but the sink has acted link a small chamber trapping the toxic fumes very near my face and all efforts to scream or yell are immediately choked off by the intense fragrance.
The water starts to cool a little and  I scrub off as much of the ooze as I can.  I remember vaguely that I am supposed to let the water run clear, but that isn't going to happen, I need soap ... this stuff needs to come OUT of my hair and pronto.  My daughter watches me in horror as the sink fills up with reddish brown water and as I work quickly as not to cause any further damage to my head.  I get the water to run as clear as I think I can get it and then in one quick movement remove all my clothes and jump into a waiting bathtub.
I dunk my head under the warmish water and scrub some more.  The water turns orange, then red and I start to resemble someone from the cast of Jersey shore as my skin picks up the remnant color from the water.  I scrub again and again, and finally decide it's time to get out.  I wrap my hair in a dark blue towel, and quickly get dressed.
Moment of truth. I can take it.
My hair is wet, but I can tell in the sunlight that it has taken on a much darker-than-expected red hue.
So much for medium auburn, it appears we are going for a ginger look, all the way.
Oh well - I know it won't last long, it usually dies down after a few days and washings.
I turn on the blow dryer and start to style the new red haired me.
The only thing worse then enduring chemical burns on a tender scalp for ten full minutes then scorching said scalp with scalding water is to apply direct heat and a brush with bristles so sharp they could be used as push pins in the bulletin board.
Move on.
Carry forward.
I flip my hair back and look in the mirror.  I have inadvertently closed my eyes...I'm a little afraid of what I'm going to see.
on the count of three..
One.
Two.
Two and a half....
Two and three quarters...
JUST LOOK.
Wow, um, yes - that's red.  Very Red.  Not auburn at all.
I guess my hair wasn't as dark as I thought originally. 
I picked up the instructions and perused them a bit.  Number one - Do not rub into scalp.
Good, glad I saw that one.
My daughter won't talk to me.
The dog and the cat refuse to acknowledge my existence.
I can't wait until the Husband gets home.
I'm sure he'll already have read this, and I'm prepared for what comes from it.
The things we do for beauty.

Fake it Till You Make it.

We all have those moments, those days, those weeks – even those months – where everything we do seems to go un-noticed, un-appreciated, un-gratifying. No matter what our circumstance, whether it be “stay at home” mom, “work at home” mom, “empty Nest” mom, or even simply “woman” we all feel this way from time to time. The key to breaking out of these unfortunate feelings and fight the dull-drums however is frightfully simple – one of my dearest friends told me this – “Fake it, Till you Make it.”
Now, aside from the obvious connotations of this phrase (I’m thinking of business people pretending to know the ropes, when in fact they do not) – what exactly can I mean by “Fake it Till You Make it”? Well, it’s actually a long held secret that my mother once told me – and by divulging this, I’m spreading a family secret – are you ready? Mother always used to say – “smile, even if you don’t feel like it. Eventually, you’ll convince yourself you are happy, and forget all your worries.”
I never quite believed her until I became a mother myself. You see, there are countless days that I’ve sat here wondering how I became the mother of five, business owner, PTA parent, violin teacher, butcher, and baker and candlestick maker – while all my friends were out pursuing fancy careers, and living the “high life”. It was easy for me to get caught up in all the “if only’s” and “what if’s” and I began to feel sorry for myself. It was right about then that my son appeared with a giant smile on his face, a cookie in his hand, and a kiss on the cheek for me. His smile brightened my whole day and I realized, I was living the dream life – my friends had no idea what they were missing. That one little smile, made my whole world brighter – my day better – my life even more meaningful than it had been before. A smile is a very powerful thing.
From that day on, I’ve made it my resolve to smile in times of difficulty, trouble, depression, or fear. If I need help locating that smile, I simply have to reflect back on that sweet little boy’s innocent kiss on the cheek. You see, it doesn’t matter how much life may pile on me, it doesn’t matter what trials may be thrown my way. I am blessed, I am happy, and I am making it regardless of any one else’s expectations or definitions of success. There may be days that I start off faking it, but usually very quickly, I’m not faking anymore. And, more often than not – that smile spreads, because you see – it’s infectious.