This morning I was in my bathroom sorting through the mountain of hair products and cosmetics. It was a dizzying experience.
Everyone in our family has a lot of hair. Maddy and Sarah both have decided, along with their best friend forever Nicole, to chop off their streaming rodeo princess tresses for Locks of Love. I'm not sure which of the fantabulous trio came up with this idea, but of course we're proud of them and more than willing to help them help others.
As long as my girls' heads don't end up looking like lambs' butts in the spring.
Okay, just kidding! They will look cute in their little chin-length bobbed hairdos. And it's a wonderful cause. I may even rope Gracie in if her hair will still cover her ears after the requisite 10 inches is cut. Her ears are a story for another day. Or not; she's learning to read too quickly for me to keep writing about her ears and such.
So back to the big product purge. Our 120-year-old church-turned-farmhouse is blessed with two smallish (but marble!) bathrooms and next to no (not even any marble) storage. When we bought here, I spent a good month mourning my old linen closet alone. That closet was a walk-in wonderland crammed with my obsession #433 : linens. Now, I live in rural paradise in my dream of an old country church, but I have to put my towels in baskets under the sink and my extra sheets between the mattresses and boxsprings. The Princess and the Pea all over again.
Criminy! I was writing about HAIR PRODUCTS. (Just in case you forgot, because clearly I did. It must be the Aquanet fumes getting to me.)
Anywhat, I wasn't purging the hair products because of the impending hair shortage in our household, but rather because the hair products were taking over both bathrooms to such an extent that Gracie actually washed her hands with apple-scented hair gel several times before I realized it. This was a sticky mess, and I was determined to get to the root of the problem and hide or throw away all tress taming goo.
That's when I came across the miracle potion I didn't know I owned: Weightless Serum. The brand name I am sworn to keep a secret unless you email me at mirisfullofballoney at aol dot com. My loaner camera is back with its lender for the week (sheesh) or I'd take a picture of the Weightless Serum and blot out the brand name with my nonexistent Photoshop skills. Just so it looked like one of those Oprah review shows.
Oprah only reveals the brand name of stuff that she personally recommends, and I must follow suit until I am personally ready to vouch for the Weightless Serum (can you hear the symphony every time I type "Weightless Serum"?). I want to believe it'll make me look just like the girl on the bottle (which costs a mere $16.99), but it's most likely not a time machine even if it does smooth better than a pair of spanks and render me next to weightless.
I'm stretching here, but I've been up all night with Laura, so the rambling is justifiable mommy mush plus bathroom organization madness plus sleep deprivation equals one weird post. That's how good my math is.
And my hair looks fabulous. But my excess weight is still there, so the jury's still out on the Weightless Serum (now you're hearing a sinister drum roll for effect). On the upside, if I take part in the hair shearing, I might lose three or four pounds. And then I could throw away at least one more hair product and have room for the toothpaste in the drawer.