A couple of years ago my Mom was looking for someone new to cut her hair. There’s a place in the local mall that tends to have a Hispanic clientele, and my Mom had noticed that people coming out of there looked good, and it also occurred to her that haircuts might be a little less expensive there. This proved to be the case, and my Mom found a young stylist working there who’s smart as a whip and very talented. Truth be told, I have much more interesting conversations with this stylist when she does my hair than I did with some of the, um, not-quite-so-bright gals at another salon nearby where I used to get my hair done. The first time she did my hair, she told me about how when her family moved here to Utah when she was a kid, she and her brother and sister could never find kids to play with on Sunday, and figured out it was because all the kids were going to church, so they followed the kids there one day. Once there, they found out that you got candy in Primary, so they kept coming back for the candy. Eventually all three were baptized LDS, and later their mom was also baptized.
Unfortunately (for me) she’s getting married this summer and moving to Salt Lake — and also she’s now trained to be a phlebotomist (that’s a person who draws blood — I tell you that in case, unlike me, you haven’t had to have your blood drawn a thousand times in the last few years, so that word’s not a part of your everyday vocabulary.) She’s taking a break from hairstyling to be a phlebotomist because she gets bad exzema, and all the products she has to use when she does hair really aggravate it. She says she’s going to miss cutting hair and hopes to eventually have her own salon, after her future husband finishes law school. If she does, I’ll be a loyal client. (I’d probably be a loyal client of her as a phlebotomist, too, if she were staying in my town, because it seems like someone who’s good at cutting hair should also be good at drawing blood. And I’m afraid that I’ve had plenty of experience with less-than-gifted phlebotomists.)
I was nervous to leave Hazel with Dean while I got my hair highlighted and cut (which takes a while) but I’d managed to pump about 3.5 ounces of milk and figured that would tide her over, although she’s never had a bottle so I wasn’t sure if she’d take to it. Dean says she drank it down in 5 minutes flat and looked around for more. She’s sleeping now (but I need to wake her up and bathe her. Which means I first need to clean the kitchen, since her baby bathtub goes in the kitchen sink.)
I’m not patient enough to wait until morning to take a photo in better light, so here’s a dark glimpse of my new haircut. Dean gave Rose and Mabel summer haircuts this week, too, so I’ll try to get photos of their cute new hairstyles soon.
Update: I just started cleaning the kitchen but remembered another story my stylist told me tonight (I’ll call her A.) Her cousin’s mother and father had gone down to Mexico but the mother got really sick, and A.’s cousin was the only one who could go fetch her back, but the cousin had a 3-month-old baby, who she left in A.’s care. A. hadn’t realized the baby was breastfed but she fed her bottles of formula and (fortunately!) the baby really liked them and ate and slept and seemed very happy. The cousin was gone for about a week and a half. When she returned, she said the baby was a lot fatter than when she’d left. A. replied that she’d heard that if you touched a baby’s tummy and it felt soft, it was time to feed the baby. And every time she’d felt the baby’s tummy, it felt soft.