I have a deep dark secret that I need to bring out into the light. Ready? Here goes: I cut my own hair. Gasp! It’s like courting disaster, isn’t it? With the exception of a birthday appointment at a salon from the Husband last year, I have been DIY-ing it for years now.
No, I am not a professional hair stylist. No, I do not have an innate gift with a pair of shears. I am clumsy. I don’t know what I’m doing. I am left-handed – which is my excuse for all kinds of personal failings. “Why are these tomatoes sliced so funny?” says my mom. “Because I’m left-haaaanded,” I wail. Why can’t I figure out how to crochet? Why are my kids so confused when I try to show them how to tie shoes? What is up with my ironing skills? Why is it so much harder to put mascara on my right eye? Yep, I’m left-handed. Feel sorry for me.
Forever and an age ago, I had a new baby and a lot of sweatpants and a husband in seminary and I was tired and couldn’t focus on what day it was and I ran a household of six people around feedings, diaper changes, tantrums (okay, some of those were my own), and mini-naps. And yes, beloved grammarians, I needed a run-on sentence to accurately portray my state of being at the time. Make an appointment? Leave myself some time to rethink the impulse to completely chop everything off? Nah. It’ll be fine.
So. I was googling things like ‘cute haircut at home’ and ‘DIY messy layered bob’, and happened upon some video tutorials that I have never been able to find again. Maybe I dreamed it. But anyway, I did watch those videos. Were they sufficient training for cutting my own hair? Hmmmm. They were at least sufficient enough to convince me to cut off the ponytail that I carefully combed to the top of my head.
Yikes. The result was what can only be described as a classic mullet. Observing my new look, complete with stained shirt and worn out sweats, I took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm my racing heart. I said a prayer, repenting of my impulsive behavior and asking God for mercy. Finally, I gathered my courage and my hair into another ponytail at the base of my neck, and chopped again. Whew. A little better. Using what can only be described as guesswork and luck, I continued to cut sections that looked wrong. And if that didn’t make them right, I cut a little more. Unbelievably, a shape started to emerge: the messy layered bob! Well, maybe messy is a bit generous. ‘Sloppy’ might be a better descriptor.
I fed the Daughter, put her down for a nap, and washed my new hair. A little product and voila! I had a decent DIY shlob. (Yes, naysayer, The Shlob Haircut is a real thing. Google it.) I have been repeating this process a couple of times a year ever since.
Now, it bears mentioning, it doesn’t always turn out so well. There was the time I called my mom in tears to come and straighten out the back and we had to shave my neck, which is a practice I abhor. My mother agrees that neck shaving is a tragic state of affairs. There was the other time when I begged the Husband to help me even out the sides and we just kept cutting one side and then the other in a horrible and vicious cycle. And I can never get my bangs right.
In case you’re wondering, yes I do realize I’m crazy. There are many wonderful and talented professional stylists out there who, if I called them, could perfectly execute a layered bob in a much less stressful fashion. But….but…I’m free! I am no slave to a hair appointment!
One day, I will change. I do believe personal growth in this area is possible. One day I will call a salon and book myself in. That day is coming. I’ll get there, folks, I promise. Perhaps it will be a particularly dull pair of scissors that will put me over the edge. Or maybe the four-inch diameter hand mirror that I use to see the back of my hair will finally seem too small. It is possible I will accidentally leave a long thin rat-tail in that blind spot, and the Husband won’t notice, but it will be very visible to everyone sitting behind me in church. It is almost inevitable. But for now, I court disaster with hair.
The Type B Mom 