Holy haircolor!

Talk about having one of those holy crap moments!!  Besides the extra weight that I really need to get off of my ass already, I took a good look at myself in the mirror.  Talk about doom and gloom.  My wardrobe consists of black/denim, and my hair has even taken on the long, dark, straight route I've never been a huge fan of.  Think lazy jersey shore...

With a quick trip to see our oldest in a much warmer state right around the corner, I am hesitant to give up my ponytail length.  And since I do not start my new job until next month, cash is beyond running thin.  My solution?  The dreaded home highlighting kit.

Women are gasping and men are perplexed lol.  I think we have all had the one horrific home hair color experience that make  us swear to never never never be so cheap again.

But tonight I needed a change.  I went all out- sitting in the family room as my teenage daughter capped my head.  Yep- Capped long hair. oooooouch!  45 min with a goofy plastic cap tied under my chin with a head full of bleaching solution and I am back to me! Well, at the least a good start.  I feel sparked for the first time to actually pack some colorful clothes for our trip and start to get out in the neighborhood for some long walks to kick start some weight loss.  Funny how something as simple as hair color can do that for a woman.

I slipped.  Hard.  While I am trying so desperately to take care of my heart/spirit/ mind, I have completely disrespected my body.  Much of it is as a way to protect myself.  The dark hair and clothes are a reminder to people around me that I'm a grieving mom.  And even more as a reminder for myself as I fight with myself over where I should be in this journey.  Finding the balance of honoring and acknowledging the past yet preparing to embrace whatever is before us in the future is overwhelming.  What I learned today is that some things are ok to let go of.  My ever present sunglasses and dark eye circles are a good enough badge screaming bereaved mom. 

So maybe this is the beginning of getting back to my journey of hope.  While God and I are patching things up slowly but surely, church and I have some ways to go.  That building still represents the last place I was with my son.  Sitting in the pew always brings tears.  No need to heap on the Catholic guilt to all my fellow cradle Catholics!  This is between God and I, and my attendance is the last thing I am concerned about right now.  I sporadically pop in for mass, always leave in tears, but look forward to eventually rejoining my faith community on a regular basis.  It's missing from our lives. But in our own way we celebrate mass and God's word in our home every day as we struggle though. I pray harder and with so much more honesty at my son's grave then I ever have in any building. 

Amazing what a simple hair color change can trigger....   #doitforcj