It's OK. Go Gray!

I started to go gray in my 20s
I went gray in my 50th year.
I kind of laughed when I found my first gray hair in college, looking in the bathroom mirror at my dorm. I thought it was funny. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was because I had always pretty fabulous hair. Not that I knew it at the time. I always felt no matter what I did it kind of looked the same. Pony tail. Farrah Facuett waves. Tousled natural..not really in vogue....it all felt the same to me.
I felt the same way about make up. No matter what I did...to me I always looked like the fat kid from third grade.
But in truth my hair was thick and healthy and a naturally highlighted combination of brown, blonde and little bit of red. I wish I could lay some claim to it but ...you know, thanks Mom and Dad, Mamaw and Papaw. Grandma and Grandpa.  It is purely the hand God dealt me. (So, God, Kudos to you.)

I told one of my professors at WKU, James Ausenbaugh, about that first gray hair and he called me a "smart ass old kid" which stuck for awhile between us. It was the one of the few times anybody gave me a nickname to my face. (The other was M&M before Eminem. (Thank you, Love You. Robert Perez)
I was also "reporter Mary" for awhile.(Another story for another day.)
I abused my hair, frankly. I wasn't much for fancy shampoos. I'd let it grow until I couldn't take it anymore and cut it all off. There was that one illconcieved perm.

The hair dye started in my 20s. Usually what was on sale. Never on a regular basis in the way you are suppose to. Because my hair was thick it help cover up mistakes in the dye distribution.
That worked pretty well through my 30s but then the onslaught began in earnest and the gray made a permanent and prominent appearance.

I'd like to think I'm not vain but I was prickly about people assuming my daughter, now 15, was my grand daughter. Two people made that mistake when she was around three or four.

I did not respond well.

Once, when we went to a restaurant to celebrate her first library card, the waitress said "Oh, isn't that nice for your Granny to do that."

"I'm her mother," I said aggressively.

"Oh, of course, you know, Grannies are so young these days, I mean, you look YOUNG. I'm a granny...just, well..." she was talking loud and fast.

"If you stop talking now you will still get a tip," I said.

She stopped.

So why give up and go gray?

First, I really am old enough to be her grandmother. Especially in my small town where it seems like a lot of families have children early and often. Her first serious boyfriend's grandma was almost exactly my age.

Second, it was pretty much all white so...well...how much time and effort did I want to spend in the hair war  that was surely going to lose. (None and, well, none.)

So early this year, I did it. First I went to a salon and got blonde "lowlights" then I was too poor to go back to create a regular transition so nature just took it's course.

Guess what?

It's healthier.

It's beautiful.

It stands out.

I have gotten dozens of compliments on it.

More people I have told me looked nice with my all white hair in the last six months than in the last six years.

I've even caught myself looking in the mirror thinking "not bad". (A rare occurrence, I can assure you.) And even sometimes...."nice"! A rarer occurrence.

I think it is really a combination of things. I've embraced the hair God gave me, I am working out. I've lost 34 pounds. My asthma is under control.

I feel better white-haired and 50 than I have in a long, long time.

I may even have a little swagger.

I have come to the conclusion that I am going to embrace it because I have spent most of my life worrying that I wasn't as pretty as I was in the decade before when I worried all the time that I wasn't pretty enough. And, proof above, I look a lot like my daughter who I think is beautiful but I never saw myself that way.

This may be as good as it's going to get folks....so I might as well make the most of it.

Plus, here is a bonus. (Bonus!)

From a distance or from behind, I could be a senior citizen of any age.

I was car dancing in traffic the other day. To One Direction. (Don't judge my jam) I was in that traffic for 45 minutes, enthusiastically singing and seat dancing. (Breathing equals the ability to sing which can lead to singing.)

I had a fabulous time. So did the people in the minivan behind me. I don't care if they were laughing at me or with me, but they were having fun. At one point we got separated but 15 minutes later they were back behind me. When the teen boy in the passenger seat saw me again, still dancing, he almost did a spit take with his Starbucks, pointed and broke out in a big smile like he was happy to see me back.

It occurred to me later that from their vantage, all they saw was the white hair over the top of the seat. I could have been 80 which made my exuberance more unexpected.

My Honda Fit was even rocking a bit.

God willing, I'll get there to 80 and beyond. My Mom has beautiful hair. She keeps it cut short. She looks like a winsome elf. She's been known to car dance.

And I'll take that, someday. For now if someone asks if I'm Bailey's grandma I'll just smile and say yes and, maybe, ask if they know of an available Grandpa who enjoys the odes of One D.

When Do I Stop????

I was born a blond. 

And, I also had very curly/fuzzy hair. 

My mom said I was cursed because my dad told her when she was pregnant with me he wanted a curly headed little girl.  So throughout her pregnancy, she worried and worried that I would come out with straight hair, and that I would be a boy.

Nope, he got his wish.  My hair was so curly as a child that it looked short...about shoulder length.  BUT, when it was wet, I could pull the curls out and sit on my hair.  You’ve seen pictures of the cartoon character, “Annie” right?  My mother actually referred to brushing my hair as “her curse!” 

The true blond lasted until I was a teen.  Then it went to this “WICKED” color that was really “unusually and exceedingly peculiar and altogether quite impossible to describe.”

Enter Clairol!

Then I became a bottle blond, and this lasted until I was in my early 40's. 

 Since that point, my hair has been every color of the rainbow and more, including pink!  The pink, accidental as it was, had a certain appeal...if you like cotton candy?

Now my hair is in the ginger family.  It has been every shade of red you could imagine, and I change the color just about every time I walk in my beautician’s shop.  I know she hates to see me come.  Mostly because I have enough hair for 4 women, and she never knows what I want done to my hair until I get there. 

This year, however, she had sympathy on me.  Between medication injected in my back for a herniated disk... and menopause, a large amount of my hair fell out.  #CanYouSayTraumatizing!  

First, I was balding.  Then my hair came back in looking like straw!  It was hideous! 

I tried weaving real hair into my own hair (what little was left.)  That was such a bad idea...for sooo many reasons.

Then I bought clips and made hair pieces to clip into the bare spots.  Yep, that too was another bad idea.  And let me tell you, buying real hair is expensive!

But, my head is currently producing normal, healthy hair.  So, back to the color bottle I go!

But, when do I stop? 

At some point, most women quit dying their hair and embrace the silver strands.  Is it that time?  If not now, when? 

I have to admit, I am a bit vain about wanting to look as young as possible.  And, I fear looking into a mirror and seeing myself older.  Will that change my behavior?  Will my husband find me less attractive?  Will I feel compelled to fill out the AARP applications we keep getting in the mail?  Will I want to wear polyester? Will I want to drive a Buick?  (No offense to Buick lovers!)  UGH!!!!

I am just not ready yet!!!

Me currently

So, I am asking you, those who so kindly read this blog, when is the right time to go silver?