On Going Gray

Yes, it's been a while. More on that at another time.

At the age of 39, I am letting my hair grow in gray.

I know that women have been doing this for millennia, and bestselling books have been written about it, but it's a big deal for me. I've thought about it for years, and have finally decided that I don't have the patience or the vanity to mess with hair color any more. I hate it. I hate having it done and I hate doing it myself even more. I hate being pulled through caps. I hate foil. I hate that the smell makes me throw up. I hate the time that it takes. I hate the expense. But most of all, I hate that I have to justify why I'm letting my hair grow in gray at the age of 39. So, it stops here.

I've been getting gray hairs (silver, actually) since I was in high school. I colored and/or highlighted my hair because my natural color is Mouse Brown and I've always wanted to be Blonde, Brunette, or Golden Retriever. I told myself that it was something that women do all of the time, and that it is a rite of passage. I tried to believe that it was part of being pampered and well-tended. I could barely stand to make the appointments to get it done, even when I worked immediately next door to my hair salon.

I see women every day that obviously spend an enormous amount of time and money on their hair. Southern women in particular are very invested in the entire "beauty" process, and we hear of even the littlest girls getting their nails done regularly. I have certainly never fallen into that high maintenance bucket, nor do I want to. Any regimen that takes me more than half an hour to complete in the morning is way too much for me. It's simply not who I am. But, I don't want to be seen as a frumpy slob, either.

The compromise that I'm going to make with myself is that I am going to continue to take excellent care of my complexion and let the gray grow out. I have beautiful skin, without any sign of wrinkles. I have finally found a regimen that I love, even though it's not cheap. And, if it really freaks me out when my hair completely grows in gray, I can always go back to color. I will work hard not to let that happen.

Update

On May 5, I posted that there were some really tall things growing in my butterfly bushes. Turns out that they were not weeds at all, but was new growth. Super growth, to be exact. The damn things are taller than I am and are blooming like crazy. I'm making a mental note to slash them back in a big way in the fall. I don't want them to take over my house.

Random Thoughts

J is coming for an entire week at the end of July. That will give me enough time to research interesting and nutritious recipes. Don't get me started on cleaning the house.

I'm going to go to the pool in a little while, as soon as I get a good handle on the six million loads of laundry.

Coldplay just gets better and better and better in concert.

I wish that H would feel better, but that won't happen until he gets his meds.

Three (actually, make that FOUR) days off in a row this week. What to do?

I hate this Sony Vaio. The N sticks and it's slow to boot up. J (another J) won't be home to fix the MacBook for another two weeks. I'll offer it up to God.

All Right, Then

Three pounds down after one week on Weight Watchers. Good way to start, no?

Five for Friday

It's been a while since I've done one of these. Bad me.

Things that make me happy:

1. Yogurt with Grape Nuts.
2. Wonderful meals from our Once-A-Month cooking.
3. Getting the hours that I need, even if it's not every week.
   
4. Going to the pool.
5. The enormous butterfly bushes in our back yard.
   

Things that make me less than happy:

1. Finding out exactly how bad my eating habits really are.
2. Learning if I'm really hungry or if I just want to eat for the sake of eating.
3. We'll have to scrub the house from top to bottom in advance of J's visit.
4. Needing to shave my legs.
   
5. Hair balls.
   

Forgiveness

I need to learn how to take care of myself.

I have always hated my body. Even when I was in High School and wore a size 8 (at 5'8"!), I was convinced that I was fat and refused to wear shorts. Exercise has always been a dirty word. I have always treated my body like the enemy, especially when I got so sick and my body went into full rebellion.

Because I don't understand having a healthy respect for one's body, I tend to regard people that do take care of themselves with mixed awe and suspicion. Are they so self-absorbed that they spend so much time worshiping their bodies? Do they neglect their families so that they can go to the gym? Do they make martyrs of themselves with their restrictive diets? That couldn't be farther from the truth. People that exercise and eat carefully understand what I do not.

This is the only body that we have. It was given to us for our use while we're here. Our lives will be much easier if we take care of it. Taking care means exercise and eating well and getting proper amounts of rest. It's that simple. And, if that means that we are self-absorbed, so be it. Maybe we need to be. Maybe I need to be.

So, the day of reckoning has come. I am going to enroll in Weight Watchers Online again. I will start moving... not sure what will work best yet, but I'll figure it out. And, I am going to forgive myself. I'm a good person trapped in a bad body that I have neglected and abused and beaten up to the point that it is starting to push back. I will look at everything that I eat in terms of "how is that good for me?" rather than "I shouldn't be eating that." And I will get better. I have to. This is the gift that I was given, and my approach for the last 40 years isn't working. Obviously.

Guilt doesn't work. Neither does hatred, or anger, or loathing, or disgust. It's time for a little respect and forgiveness. And patience. Lots and lots of patience.

Subversive Thought of the Day

When did Jimmy Fallon get cute? Isn't he supposed to be fat?