Spa’d Goals

You know how sometimes shit just doesn’t go the way you think it will, even if it’s something you’ve done a hundred times? My mother has just had one of those times.

Rewind.

My mom has been staying with us for the past 8 days or so. This was part long overdue visit, part helping me out with kids during the dreaded transition from camp to school, and part moral support for me as I packed my little bitty dude off to big kid school. Yes. I cried. But no matter.


Now my mom, “Crispi,” is a full-time RV’er. She has spent much of the summer up in Canada where sometimes the water systems are a bit iffy, chemically, leading to strange hair reactions – not to mention what it can do to laundry. As such, my usually-blonde mother arrived at my house rather drab in color. While here enjoying good old Amurrrrican water, she opted to buy a basic highlight kit, with the added bonus of having me there to pull the teeny bits of hair through the teeny holes in the plastic bonnet. No sweat, right? She’s always been a DIY hair dye chick with a long and positive track record so this wasn’t even something to mention.

I left my mom in her plastic bonnet and took off for carpool. Carpool has been extra nightmarish lately. I mean, I get that it’s only the first few days of school and all, but the worst offenders (and there are MANY) are those with kiddos in grades 1-5; in other words, this shit isn’t new to them. It’s like the entire parental pool has suffered blunt-head trauma. Anyway, an hour later I come back home to my mother, the Khaleesi. Well, Khaleesi with a slightly frumpier wardrobe (sorry, Mom) and lacking the three dragons.  

Y’all, it was startling. I mean, I couldn’t look away. It was bad. It was really bad. And I should know because I, too, tried the Khaleesi look, and I did it on purpose, paying loads of money to look really horrible and strange.


We agreed that something needed to be done. My mom figured some kind of rinse would take the edge off of whatever horrendous shit had taken hold of her hair. I gave her my car keys and directions to Sally’s. She tried that rinse twice. It did nothing at all.  

This morning after I took my last baby to school and cried a while, we were back in Sally’s. The manager was trying to help- low-lights this and processing that. I was admiring the cool colors in the meantime. We immediately agreed that going obnoxious would totally be the correct decision in this case. Blue. She would be blue.


So after a pedicure, during which we both went blue, and some Indian food for lunch, I dyed my mother’s hair blue.


It is fabulous. She is the rockingest blue-haired grandmother I’ve ever seen. It is glorious, and so much better than the wanna-be Khaleesi hair.
Later: I had to skedaddle earlier before posting, but something alarming is happening. She’s getting bluer. She’s blueing. The shade has gone from pretty sky to fairly-saturated Smurf. Where this ends, I know not. But it’s still better than it was.

My mother is cooler than your mother.

Advertisements

About larva225

Working mom. Is there any other kind? Geologist. Nerd.
This entry was posted in life, Parenting and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

10 Responses to Spa’d Goals

  1. Terri says:

    But we’ve always known you had the coolest mom; look at the kid she produced!

    You didn’t seriously think I was giving up my favorite blog?!!!

  2. Merbear74 says:

    I just had the music from The Smurfs playing in my head…😂

  3. joey says:

    Your mom IS cooler than my mom, but my mom is PRETTY GOSHDURN COOL. 🙂
    Brighter days are ahead — so many new achievements, funnies, and preciouses.

  4. Erika says:

    Ooooh, the blue hair is awesome!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s