The Dreadliest Catch

Dread Update!

Let me start by saying that I just wasn’t cool enough to rep the dreads to their full potential.

It was a struggle. I knew it was going to be. I knew they were a lot of work. I knew they needed some serious love and attention if I wanted them to look tidy and tight and kempt - yes, I do believe dreads can look kempt. Alas, the vision of tight, ropy, waist-length dreads, adorned with shells and coloured twine skyrocketing my coolness level to unimaginable heights was not to be. I cut them off.

I had one dread that was two years old, and it was beautiful. It fell nicely, it was tight, it had a big ass bead on it. It was the example I knew could be achieved if I dedicated two solid years to allow the dreads to mature. Fuzzy, loopy, and I had a bunch of rogue hairs lose all over the place.  This would be my hair reality for dos anos unless I put in some serious maintenance or had serious patience. Or went blind. The issue was multiplied because I have just experienced postpartum hair loss. It’s a thing. I have thousands of fine downy hairs all over my head. New growth from the molting event that recently occurred. And believe it or not, all those new hairs don’t know they are supposed to tuck themselves nicely into dreads. As a result they just stick out everywhere. Its really attractive. Trust me.

I had honestly considered cutting them off around Christmas, but I had some encouraging people who helped me rally for a few more months.  I thought I could hold on until two years. I really did. I thought I had set my resolve. But one Sunday night, after a shower, I was lamenting the ability to scratch my whole scalp at once and as I crawled into bed with my family for some down time before we went to sleep, I voiced the unimaginable:

“Should I cut these dreads off?”

“Yes!” - my husband hates the dreads.

He patiently let me run where my hippy heart would, but he did not like the mass of snarls and scratchy ropy tresses that now graced my noggin. I mentioned when I started this journey, that I am a short haired girl. I haven’t looked like myself in almost 4 years. Neither of us thought so.

Not Me. (2016)

Me. (2006)

The hubs didn’t just immediately jump on the “hack off the dreads” band wagon. He actually questioned me first. Was this a knee jerk moment? Was this something I was going to regret doing? Was this the first moment I had thought about cutting the dreads? I appreciate that he gave me space to make my own decision here instead of pushing his anti-dread agenda.

After waffling back and forth for a few minutes, I just went and did it. One at a time I used a pair of dull scissors and literally hacked each one off. I had all kinds of longish strands that were sticking out all over. Nothing was even. It looked like a huge mess. And then I had another shower to wash all the extra shorties and loose hair out. And it felt amazing. A.MAZE.ING!

Take a minute to drink in this masterpiece.
Like a train-wreck, it is hard to look away from.

I’ve got to be honest - the dreads were just not jiving with me and my lifestyle. In fact, because I am a short haired girl at heart, I didn’t like the way the dreads looked when they were hanging down around my face. As a result I kept them up most of the time and the extra weight sticking out from the back of my head made my neck hurt. And it bumped into the headrest in my car. I had to pile them up on top of my head or take my messy dread bun out to drive. When a hairstyle starts causing one pain, it is probably time to give up on it.

Also, they weren’t working with being a mom for me. They would get in the kids’ faces, and they weren’t nice to cuddle with. Not to mention how I would sprawl them across my pillow at night. It doesn’t really create space for kids or spouses to come close and cuddle. (Not that I am opposed to the space - I am not a cuddler - but they all are, and they all need some of that physical attention from me.)

So Monday I called a hair salon to see if I could get the hack job cleaned up, and I was fit in that afternoon. And finally after years growing my hair and about 10 months of dreads, I am a short haired girl again.

I LOVE IT. I was a little worried that I wouldn’t look right - maybe I was too chubby now for short hair. But for real. I feel like a babe. I am so happy to be back to me. And my husband has been enjoying rubbing my short hair head and snuggling up closer than he has been able to since my thick hair started getting some serious length.

I talked with some of the girls I have met since moving - they only know me with long hair/dreads so this is a big change for them. Everyone has been super enthusiastic about the hair, but I was talking to a girl about how we both tend to start projects or skills or whatever and not finish them. She jokingly said that she had failed herself so many times that she didn't want to start something new. I am not looking at this as a failure. I tried something that many people won't try. It was a long term commitment - growing my hair and putting in the dreads and letting them mature as much as I could - and I did it. No one helped me. I gave it my best shot. And in the end I found out it wasn't me. That I already knew who me was in the hair department and I am back there. Do I regret the time I spent doing this thing? Not at all. It was a rad journey that I can talk about and gave me some insights I would have never gotten if I hadn't walked this road. Try things out. Even if in the end you revert back to what you knew before - it isn't actually regression. It is an experience and a stretching. And my hair might be back to "normal" now - but I KNOW more about who I am because I walked out a different image for a while.

Thus ends a narcissistic chapter of my life in hair.

Peace.

Discontent - Part 1

Spiritual Prompting or Stir Crazy?

You know when you have a good day – like a peaceful, slow paced, content kinda day. Maybe you get to spend some quiet time reading.  Maybe the kids are super endearing. Maybe it feels like you have not a care in the world. I just had one of those days. It really was nice and peaceful.  But then I looked in the mirror.  – Now please know this isn't a hate on myself post. I - like everyone – have those weak moments, but as a rule I don't let them track me around and I shake them off with truths that far outweigh any negativity that tries to hang itself around my neck.

Anyway, I looked in the mirror, and I thought to myself – you are a hot mess. And I vocalized this sentiment to my husband.  We had just been to a five year old's birthday party where I met some new people from my community and while I was there I also noted that I seriously needed some under arm charm. I was stinky. I was the stinky mom. I admit, it is harder to find time to shower as a mom than it was when there weren't little bodies in my constant care, but I would by no means say that I neglect personal hygiene. (Yes I have dreadlocks, but I keep them clean.) But I was smelly that day and I am still at the beginning of a health and weight loss journey that doesn't seem to be going super great. Not to mention having a toddler and too much stuff means that I sometimes feel like I live in a chaotic mess. Basically I was just feeling discontented about everything.  And it came on me suddenly after a fairly content and low key day.

What is the root of this nagging sense of un-rightness in my life? Did this feeling just come upon me out of nowhere or is it something I have been carrying around?

After the hot mess comment, my husband tried, unsuccessfully, to tease me and I couldn't shake this downer, nagging feeling for the rest of the night. As bedtime was approaching, I handed him my phone to read a Facebook article while I put the toddler in her jammies and helped her get cleaned up. We communed for prayers on her queen sized mattress and as we settled down I said, “I feel like I am in the winter of my discontent.”

What the crap am I discontent about?

To the untrained eye everything in my life is tickety-boo. Because it is! I don't have very many hardships.  Like basically none. There is nothing for me to complain about. So what is this feeling about? What areas of life am I not content with?

1.     My spirituality. I want to live my faith more authentically. I want it to be the centre of everything I do, the decisions I make, the way I raise my kids and  how I live out my marriage with my husband. I want it to permeate EVERYTHING.  

2.    My consumerist/entitled/wasteful lifestyle. I could use the old qualifier, “I'm not as bad as most.” But seriously.  That is weak. Who cares what “most” do? What do I DO? That's the real question and the only variable I can control!  So please, Wynder, cut the thin excuses and take a hard look at how you love (live).

3.    My health and fitness.  I have dreams in this area. Dreams of being able to do serious back country backpacking. Dreams of being able to do chin ups. Dreams of inversion yoga. Dreams of strength and flexibility that follow me well into my old age. Energy that matches my kids. Dreams of being able to have self control when it comes to sugar in my life. I'm not there.

4.    My messy house. We are not hoarders by any means; the pathways through our stuff are at least big enough to shuffle past another person, but honestly.  I would like my floor spaces to be empty and the flat surfaces of my life to be used for more than just collecting things like mail and tools I am too lazy to put away.  The boxes and things we haven't used since we moved need to go. What is my problem?

5.    My creativity.  I am a creative person, although it took me about a million years to realize it. But I haven't utilized the creative outlets available to me as best I could.

Five seems to be a significant number for me these days because I had five goals for this year. Here are five things I feel the need to pursue and change, but how oh how does one balance a list of five things, each of which could be a life's pursuit? 

About Writing....

Journal-ling on my deck. AKA "my happy place"

I have been getting excited about writing again. To be honest, I am always excited about writing. I have an inner monologue that runs in my head as if I were constantly writing a journal entry. Some nights I lay awake and think about what I wish I was writing in my journal, but I often don't get up to write. Instead, I rationalize that I am too tired, or will need to be up with the babe soon and I should just go to sleep. I would probably be further ahead if I just got up and wrote for half an hour and then went back to bed instead of mulling it all over for an hour or two.

The elusive "sleeping baby"

Tonight, I didn't even try to lay down to sleep. I went out to a movie with some girls and had a large Coke and popcorn, so I am all jazzed up on sugar and caffeine. Not to mention all that popcorn in my pregnant body is giving me some serious heartburn. Babies take up so much room! There will be no sleeping for a little while yet. 

Since July, I have been more motivated to make an effort to write every damn day. It's a hashtag. I have been following the writing prompts of "lilblueboo's" blog and while I have only done about a dozen of them, they are a great way to get me putting pen to paper, telling stories I might never have written down and actually making me think about my craft. So far, I hadn't written anything today besides copying some recipes from the interwebs into my "make-your-own-cookbook", so this is an opportunity I will not waste. And what better way than to put up a blog post?

Writing Prompt #6 - Courtesy of lilblueboo.com

I have been working with a writing group at my local museum. The title of the group is "Family Secrets" and the goal was simply to get people writing their stories. Especially stories about family history. There are so many things in life that are lost because no one took time to do a little recording. We aren't a group who is about genealogy or chronology or even names of places. We are simply trying to tell our stories. The beauty is that as we tell our stories our histories come out in them and are recorded. We leave a legacy of ourselves and also those who have influenced us. And maybe nobody else gives a crap, but since stories are a universal glue that holds humanity together, I think someone somewhere might actually crap. Or give one. Or whatever. 

At first, I wasn't sure I was fitting in as a writer with the group. Everyone else has stories of horse drawn wagons, homesteading, and one room schoolhouses. My stories have a similar feel, as I grew up largely in a rural environment, but my stories also feature technological advances such as electricity and tend to feel more like a journal entry. (Obviously, most of my writing experience takes place merely between the coil bound covers of my journals, so besides university papers, I don't have much experience as someone who actually "writes".) It took me a little bit to realize that my stories were the same as my counterparts - even if my style was a bit different. I was writing about being a kid, growing up, funny anecdotes, relationships with parents, and the other members of the group were too. It is just that they are all 30-50 years older than me. 

Our leader, a local author named Tyler Trafford, has been extremely helpful and encouraging getting our group moving forward, getting stories down, sharing our voices. He even suggested we create an anthology of our stories to publish and will be walking us through the process. He has a great deal of knowledge and experience to share with all of us amateurs. In fact, he has really challenged me as a writer, which no one has done since my 20th Century Irish Drama class in university. That professor was an extremely tough marker, but I didn't take her grading as an invitation to improve my craft. It was merely a formula I needed to passably achieve in order to make it through her class. I learned in university that my writing ability was not necessarily magnificent, and while I have always harboured hidden hopes of one day being published for my own merits, I let my laziness and my arrogance lull me into believing that my words were somehow....a big deal. That if I bothered to write it down, it was good enough. That is the danger of only writing in a journal . The only audience is me. And I know exactly what I am trying to say. I like my writing style. I don't notice my grammatical errors. I think I am witty and entertaining and profound. That is also the beauty of just being a journal-er. No one insists I do better. No one challenges me about my craft. No one can burst my bubble.

Tyler burst my bubble. It has taken me a couple of days to grapple with it.

He is SO encouraging. He calls and leaves messages about how he and everyone enjoys my stories and that my words are so great. It has been nice having people pump my tires about writing like I did in junior high. But - He told me I do well at getting words out and once I spew it all out on paper, I get lazy. He told me my pieces were good, but if I would just invest more time and effort into them, they would be great. The elements are there. However, I need to rework them.

I want to protest. To say, "but I am so busy with a little kid in the house." I want to say, "I've never had to put so much extra effort in before." I want to say, "Aren't my words, the way I say them, enough? Aren't they already magic?"

You know what, though? He is right. It happens all the time with me. I get excited about doing something, but then I don't pursue it to my full potential. And it is OK to do that. I can't throw my whole self behind every project I take up - it isn't realistic to think that I can be fully invested in every endeavour I find interesting. Nobody can.

This is where my problem is: I have this black balloon I have been packing with me for years. It is the idea that I am kind of good at a bunch of things - but excellent at none. That there is nothing about me that makes me special. At least not in tangible gifts. My husband and I used to have this joke between us: this is Mark, (followed by a lengthy list of his accomplishments and talents), and this is his wife, Val, she's a good friend. 

The truth? I have never really put myself out there in a way that has challenged my abilities and talents. I had enough to get by - and get by pretty well - so I left it at that. Honestly, it is easier to coast through than to make myself vulnerable by really striving. That way if I fail I know I haven't really tried anyway. Super cliche and super lame, but also, ashamedly, super true. I have the potential to learn how to be excellent at writing. I have been keeping a journal fairly consistently since the 8th grade. I think that is a pretty good indicator about my passion for writing. Journal-ling is the only thing that I started in my childhood and have continued through my life. I have always wanted to write down the things I think, feel and experience. The craft of it is something that I can learn to improve on. I can learn to be an artist with my words. And you know what? Even though I am interested in trying and doing lots of things from knitting to tanning leather to pottery, I will be happy to do all of those things decently - but I want to be excellent at writing. Maybe one day I will be published for my own merits.

I guess that means I should spend some time editing this post before I put it up.

Peace.

Why Is Hair Such A Big Deal?

I am not a long haired girl. It just isn’t me. I cut my hair off for the first time in grade 8 - which made me about 13 years old - and I grew it back initially because the change was just such a huge shock I wasn’t sure how to deal with it. But within about a year, I cut my hair again. And then again. And again. I cut it about three times in a week shorter and shorter until we got to a place where I loved the new look. I went from shoulder-ish length down to what I lovingly refer to as “hockey hair”, to a strange bowl-esque/mushroom-y kind of cut, to a super short pixie cut. I LOVED it. My mom HATED it. My dad said it was just hair, and so I got to keep it short, and short it stayed all through high school, most of university and into my adult life. I have had long hair twice since I finally got it down to my beloved pixie way back then: I grew it out for two years conveniently around the time I got married so my wedding photos have a pretty sweet up-do. I like to call it a faux hawk/bump with class. Which was quickly followed with a real mohawk; red and black with lightening shaved in the side of my head. The second time I have had long hair is now.

The weeding do, 2006

The hawk that followed.

I feel like I don’t even look like myself if my hair is down and flowy and, ugh. It is just weird. Even my husband doesn’t think it is me.

June 1, 2015 This is my hair as it is right now. Just showered, not combed, not straightened.
I am about to section it into braids to await dreadlocks.

I have run the gamut of colours and short edgy dos. Mohawks, fauxhawks, long bangs, rat tails, spikes, and shaved. I loved them all. About three years ago, I decided to start growing my hair. I had a goal. Something I hadn’t done before. Something that was going to take some commitment. Something that made everyone cringe. Dreadlocks.

Here are a few examples of the hair I have had over the past 10 years:

I am not a planner by nature. I don’t have 5 or 10 year goals. We have a supper menu on a chalk board in the hallway because my husband got tired of me never knowing what the crap I was going to make for supper that day. So the biggest plans in my life are what’s for supper Monday to Friday, and the rest just comes at me. Or I come at it. I guess it depends on the day.

BUT. I planned for this hair. I have a goal. Dreads.

Also, I should add that I am a strange combination of an opportunist - looking for someone else to do the hard work for me - and a “do it the hard way” kind of girl. I don’t like to spray weeds. I like to pull them. (why? I don’t know. I feel like it is more meaningful. And more effective.) I recently made soap. I know I can buy it. But I MADE some. And I think that’s cool.

Anyway. I put out a plea on Facebook to my friends and family for someone to help me out with putting these dreads in my hair. I really only have a limited amount of time where putting them in makes sense, because soon my hands are going to be full full full of a new baby and a toddler, so I wanted to maximize the summer and this time with only one kid to really work at these dreads. (In case you are unaware - dreadlocks are very labour intensive for the first little while - up to a year - while they mature and lock in. If they aren’t looked after, they get gnarly and scary) I got lots of encouragement - and some cringes - but no one offered up their time or energy to help me out. (To be fair, recently, a friend I know who has helped maintain her brother's dreads has offered to help.)

I went to a local salon for a bang trim. I asked there. I mean, it doesn’t hurt to ask. $100 an hour. For at least 8 hours. Probably more like 10. Honey, ain’t no one got a grand to drop on a hairstyle. Please. So. Here I am. I have a head full of hair that doesn’t feel like it belongs to me, and a goal. And a bit of a time limit. Sigh. I guess I’m going to have to do it myself. At least I am not scared of the hard way. I guess my weeds are just going to have to wait to be pulled while I dread my hair (and blog about it!).

My hair is a big part of the expression of who I am. It has been for a long time. It is loud when I don’t feel like I have the voice to be loud. It attracts attention. It has a mind of its own. So, while I thought about maybe just giving up and cutting the whole mess off, going back to my “safe” hair styles - I decided I just need to go for it. It is going to take me some time to get it done, it took me two days just to section my hair and braid it so it would be somewhat organized for this endeavour. But I think I want to document this too, because I am really excited to see how it all goes. And in a year, to see what they look like. If it doesn’t work out, that’s ok too. I’m not scared of a pair of clippers. J

Braids in. Now for the real work to begin.

My first dreadlock of many.

I know most people don’t give two poops about a post on hair - let alone a plan to document my hair in the coming months, but if you made it to the end of this post, I feel like you should be rewarded and if you comment or if you know me well enough to send me a text or email, I will send you something just for you to say thanks for actually reading, and at least pretending to care about how firmly I have attached my identity to my hair. You are either a great friend, or you are super bored!

Peace!

Carbohydrates - The Complex

Hello, my name is Valerie, and I am a sugar addict.

Seriously.

I rarely walk into a store and walk out again without some kind of confectionary. When I was a kid, I loved going to the dentist because at each of my yearly check-ups, I never had cavities. I would rub it in my brothers' faces because they usually had at least one filling coming every year. In my grade twelve year, I had eight cavities that needed to be filled. Why? Because I bought and consumed a Slurpee. Every. Single. Day. I dislike dentists now.

Yesterday I ate a bag of licorice, a pile of cookie dough, some cooked cookies, a piece of chocolate, and when I did go to eat some real food, I topped it with red pepper jelly. The worst part is, I started hating each bite I took. (Ok, maybe I didn't hate the cookie dough, but the rest of it was killing me!)

The whole trying to be crunchy with my skin care products (which I have now documented as failed - see my last post) should extend into the realm of what I consume as well. In fact, more than my desire for greasy, hippy hair, I want the things I eat to be good to my body. Don't get me wrong, I want them to taste good - preferably like ice cream - but I want them to bring me life, not the churning-yet-stationary lump of death that I experienced through most of last night. Ugh.

I guess the point is that I am finding I need to start establishing some balance in my life. In all ways. I feel like many things are out of control and while I am definitely not a control freak, I do recognize when there needs to be some discipline in my life! Discipline is NOT my strong suit, but it is something I crave! I'm not necessarily interested in strapping myself to some kind of regimented routine, that kind of living isn't life to me, but I should be able to control myself! I want to eat food that makes me feel good. I want to do positive things for my body and soul. I want physical and spiritual discipline in my life.

At least I walked the dog.

- the only healthy thing I did yesterday

This is NOT a weight loss blog, nor is it some kind of championing of my road to some self-help regime (or lack thereof). This is just a girl who recognizes that she has been ridiculously blessed in life, and is wanting to say thank-you by making those blessings count. I mean, if you ask my friends, they will tell you how awesome I am, and I'm not one to argue, but I feel like a little discipline wouldn't hurt.

If I had to list what I would like to accomplish, this would be it:
1. Engage in God's word and in prayer daily
2. Curb my sugar intake to something reasonable. (I'm not sure how to define 'reasonable' yet - it probably will need to be like perpetual lent, with feasting reserved for Sundays only.)
3. Trim a few lbs off my shapely physique - like 30-40! Whew!
4. Work on my flexibility/endurance/back pain. I am worried I am getting old before my time.
5. Limit my aimless screen time to ten minutes a day. Too often I default into endless scrolling. I want my screen time to be productive.

Well, now they are written down. I'll work on the plan and the time frame, but if you read this and you would be so inclined, I could use a little help with the accountability! Feel free to ask how it's going, and then nail my butt to the wall if I'm making excuses.

Peace