Thursday, August 15, 2013

So I cut my own bangs

I blame the two people who chimed in on facebook yesterday to tell me I should cut my own bangs.

I mean, I did ask for your opinion.  Though maybe you didn't make it all the way through yesterday's rambling post.  I'd say that today's will be better but my son woke up at 2 a.m. ready to start his day, then climbed into bed with me, and I believe I've said before that I don't sleep when my children share bed space with me.

So anyway, I decided to cut my own bangs.

Actually, I decided months ago that if I were to cut my bangs, I'd do it myself for two reasons.  The first is that I am unable to sit in a hairdresser's chair without immediately turning awkward and jittery and embarrassing myself, as I've mentioned before

The second reason is because I am economical* by nature and so the idea of paying someone $5 plus a tip so I can stumble my way through small talk while said someone I do not know breathes in my face while she trims my bangs was enough to send me to the store for shears.

I've already used them on Sebastian.  I gave him his last haircut, which actually doesn't look as bad as it could have.  There are only a few choppy parts.

So I thought, eh.  I can cut my own bangs.

Pinterest said so, and everything on Pinterest is true except for those pins that make you feel like a horrible mother compared to all the other mothers who have constant educational activities for their children and always speak lovingly and whatnot.  Those pins can suck it.

(Comparatively, I am sitting in my bedroom typing while my children have a screaming match upstairs, but as I've already cleaned up a bed full of poop today, I feel that grants me free pass to ignore them.)

So Pinterest had a tutorial and made everything seem easy and my friends told me to cut my bangs and I'm a sucker for peer pressure so there you go.

Here's the before:

 Dirty mirror and random child wanting my help putting toothpaste on her toothbrush?  Check.

I took these in my Jesus bathroom.  See?  He marked it.

Or the woman who lived here before us was super religious and had crosses everywhere and I'm a bit superstitious and refuse to scrub this discoloration off or paint over it.

For the last five years.

(Don't worry.  I'll get over it one day.)

 This is what Pinterest told me to do:

I couldn't take a picture of me actually cutting my hair because I am not so talented or coordinated.  So picture me with scissors.

And here is the after:   

Notice I took the time to brush and style my hair for you.  (HA!)  (Also don't look too close or you'll see all the little pieces of hair that fell in my eyes while I was cutting.)

They're only a little bit lopsided.  Totally worth it. But I'm not that picky.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go separate some Thomas children.

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