I don't look like 'Mommy'...Hmmm...

I finally got my hair cut after months of trying to grow it out and not losing it all in the process. There was a minor hiccup at the salon. The woman who normally does my hair is no longer with the salon so I settled for a fellow who'd styled my unruly tresses for the company gala last month.

Problem is, my knowledge of spoken Kannada - the language spoken in Bangalore, where we live - is elementary. And the stylist spoke nothing else. Anyway, with some basic phrases and some gesticulating, I managed to convey that I wanted my hair cut in steps. The word 'layers' cropped up in his half of the conversation and I supposed that it meant the same thing. Towards the end, he said he was blowdrying it straight and that it wouldn't look nice if he curled it. I was game for that. At least my hair would look nice and different for a couple of days.

When he was done, my hair looked....well...hip, actually. I've never had a hip hairstyle in all my thirty-and-loose-change years! Not bad, I thought. It is feathered and of medium length. A wonderful change from insipid version of the same cut I've had since middle-school. Kind of like Posh Spice (cringe, cringe) in the front but not at the back.

DH liked it too. (I did not ask for an opinion. I've been married for almost ten years so I know better than to ASK for an opinion!) And then he asked the offspring: "Isn't Mamma's new haircut nice?"

The offspring lolled on the couch for a bit, observing silently. "Your hair looks very nice," he finally said, but the sentence was loaded. There was more to come. "But you don't look like Mamma."

Huh? Wait a minute, what does that mean? DH shrugged. I raised an eyebrow and the little rascal grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You hair is nice. But you look very fashionable." That's the exact word he used: 'fashionable.' My son knows words like 'fashionable.' He's six and he knows words like fashionable. Gulp.

"So is that good or bad?" I asked him.

"It's good for you. You'll look nice in the office. But you don't look like my Mamma." Direct, point-blank, no beating about the bush. A brave man, don't you think? Even if it was his mother and not his girlfriend he was talking to.

"Do you want me to change it?"I volunteered

"No. You look nice, Mamma. But not like my Mamma," he repeated.

Ah, I see. I was looking non-Mommy-ish. Not bad, I thought. I haven't looked like that since much before he was born. But then, mommy-guilt surfaced. And how. I was ready to find hairpins, hide the fashion and stick to the severe, 'able' look. Before the guilt could overwhelm me, the little tyke scooted over and gave me a hug. "I still love you," he announced.

Thanks, Munchkin. I needed that. :-)

Hootie Cutie!

A dear colleague came to say goodbye to us in the office today. She was one of the first people we'd hired when we got the firm going around two years back. Her baby is 4-1/2 months old and she was due to return to work this month. But then her husband got transfered to another city, so they're leaving. :-( She'd brought her son along to say goodbye and he was hooting the whole time he was here, non-stop. Paused just once to plant a drooly kiss on the shoulder of another colleague who was cuddling him at the time. Lucky girl.

He also flashed a crinkly-nosed, sparkly-eyed smile at everyone in the office who was wearing glasses. Hooting all the while, of course. His dad wears glasses and he brightens up when his dad comes home. So he unabashedly favors people who wear glasses. Now here's the flip side to the story: his dad has been out of town for 3 days so the baby's stopped recognizing him! Won't go into his arms either. But he's still making cute faces at people who wear glasses! Inexplicable, but that's babies for you. :-)

His hooting is still ringing in my ears, hours after he left. We'll miss you both. After all, we've known the kid since before he was born: through the morning sickness, the giddyness, the backaches, and the anxious wait when the due dates got mixed up. But that's a different story. Have a happy life, dears. We hope to see you soon.