I'll get around to the point...bear with me

I only met Justin's grandfather a handful of times before he passed away several years ago. Justin and I had been dating for almost a year, but since Gramps was sick during most of that time, we didn't get to know each other much. I assume he heard as much about me as I heard about him.

The few times we spoke, he showed himself to be a clever jokester who loved his grandson beyond compare. He was proud of Justin, taking pleasure in our new relationship and teasing us freely about young love. The first day I met him, he held his arms open wide, singing a warbled rendition of "Here she comes...Miss America!" Justin was embarrassed to be ratted out for having gushed over me enough for Gramps to sing about it.

The second or third time we met, he was in the hospital, and I had just gotten a new haircut. I had been trying to grow my hair out for quite some time, but finally gave up and cut it down to a comfortable length. Gramps used to cut hair when he was younger, so he noticed right off. He told me it looked "a million times better! Don't ever let it get that long again!" Then he proceeded to embarrass Justin and me about something or other. (Gramps liked to keep Justin on his toes. I imagine he and my own grandpa would have gotten along perfectly.)

On Gramps's advice, I kept my hair short for a very long time. It wasn't hard to do; I've always preferred my hair short. But as the years passed, I kept thinking, "maybe it will look good long?" So I tried it a few times with awful results. Each time it got long again, I was reminded that it just didn't look good.

But my memory is ever hopeful. And this last time I grew it out, it wasn't so much because I wanted long hair, as that I didn't have time (or the desire to make time) to get it cut. My last haircut was just before Lauren was born, over 9 months ago. Constant breastfeeding, naps, meals, grocery shopping, preschool, holidays, dinner to make, house to clean, and the hair salon is only open certain hours...it just wasn't in my cards. I did the same thing after Mia was born.

So I tried to convince myself that it looked good. When, really? It was terrible. Stringy, staticky, flippy, terrible. Even Mia noticed a few nights ago. We were playing and wrestling around when she said, "Mama! You have too much hair!"

It just happened that my mom was on vacation this week, and there was an opening at the salon right at naptime.

Bingo.

I got a haircut. And Gramps was right: it's a million times better.