Perfect Shades of Gray

I was wondering when I would no longer be able to ignore the every increasing presence of gray hair atop my head. For the last several years I have been able to give a nod of acknowledgment to these strands and not give them much thought. I had begun to develop a relationship with my few gray hairs. I could recall with pride when I found my very first one. It was the day after I gave birth to my first child that I noticed a few long gray hairs sweeping across my face. I wore them like a badge of honor, scars from my right of passage into motherhood. I wistfully tied them up into my signature ponytail and grew into my new found maturity. Our relationship grew with the birth of our second child when more of the ashen troops laid their mark atop my crown. I gave a nod of approval, but this time I was not as happy to welcome the invasion. Our family continued to grow and so did my conscious effort to ignore my graying hair. I was living in wonderful ignorance, unaware of my growing vanity. I was happy with my perfect shades of gray, or so I thought.

This is the year I turn 40, the year I am supposed to come into my own. My mother described turning 40 as the beginning of the decade she best knew who she was. I have been anticipating this year for some time. Looking forward I began to formulate a plan as to how I would approach this new awakening. I would finally take the time to write my first book ,I would finally love the skin I am in and I would really know who I was. Wait a minute, I was pretty sure I already knew who I was, my book had been something I had toyed with for years and quite frankly it'll take a miracle for me to love the stretched out droopy, post child-birthing skin I am in. Let's face it folks I am no more ready to embark on a 40's awakening than I was when I turned 30. The only obvious change is my now ever-present annoyance at my ever-invading shades of gray. The only change I could see coming my way this year was going to come out of a hair dye bottle. And so began my quest to battle the gray. Armed with a drugstore hair dye kit I set out to change, to quell the population of ashen invaders and to enter into 40 a Mocha Caramel Brunette.

I foolishly chose the night of the Oscar's to delve into this unknown territory of hair dye. Head turned upside down, hands gloved and children looking on in amazement I went to war. I had chosen as my weapon a non-permanent gray covering dye, after all I may some day make peace with the enemy. I squeezed and I mashed and I saturated my hair until I was sure I had achieved victory. With one flip of the head and a twist of an old towel the battle was over. My kid's eyes were wide and I could see a hint of terror and wonder in them. "Mommy did you mean to dye your face too?" asked my middle child. Rushing my hands to my face I could feel the tell-tale wetness of dye dripping down my forehead and ears. The thought occurred to me that this probably wasn't going to wash right off so I made a mad dash to the bathroom to assess the damage. Once sure that my face would not forever be streaked with mocha and caramel I continued to finish the job. I carefully removed the towel from my head to reveal the deed. Shockingly, my hair had not fallen out of my head into a heap at my feet as I had secretly feared. There was indeed a less noticeable amount of gray. The gray was definitely gone, but now a painful burn began to creep up on my scalp. Oh my goodness, what had I done. Grabbing the box and scouring over the instructions I looked for clues as to why my head was burning. It was possible I was having an allergic reaction to the dye, I may have left the stinky stuff on too long, or simply and more likely it was my punishment for being vain.

Today the burning has stopped and my grays have remained in exile. I have won the battle for now, but I am sure another one is just around the corner. We haven't even begun to talk about my battle with gravity! For now I will have to be content with my store-bought perfect shade of brown and worry about shrinking another day.