Several weeks ago I made an appointment to get my hair cut and highlighted. I had put off The Day of Reckoning as long as I could, but the necessity of a salon visit became very clear to me when I saw a picture of myself, realized that my roots were approximately three inches long, and cried out for God to deliver me from my hair negligence.

So a cut and some highlights seemed reasonable.

But sadly, I had to cancel my appointment because the husband and I had mixed up our schedules, and NO WAY was I taking a 4 1/2 year-old with me to get my hair done because THAT WOULD NOT BE VERY RELAXING, NOW WOULD IT?

I think not.

And now is where my tale of hair woe gets a bit dicey.

I had big plans to reschedule my appointment, but since the Hair Wizard is over two hours from my house, there were some logistical issues in terms of finding a convenient time for an appointment. And sadly, as the post-cancellation days passed, I started to realize my pre-Uganda Hair Wizard window was closing. There just wasn’t enough time.

So you know where this is going, don’t you?

Because obviously the conditions were ripe for the devil to get a home hair color foothold. And while some of you have the skills to carry out successful home hair color ventures, I do not. I can only create tiger stripes of spotty yellow color. The devil knows this.

He preys upon the weak, my friends. He preys upon the weak.

So while I didn’t exactly plan to go to the CVS and stand in the home hair color aisle for twenty minutes and convince myself that I really could replicate the Hair Wizard’s sun-kissed highlights, that is exactly where I found myself a couple of weeks before the Uganda trip. I had to go to the drugstore to pick up some medicine for the little man, and before I knew what happened, I picked up a box of highlights.

Oh, and the Lord tried to intervene. He did. He first used my child, who was a little farther down the aisle than I was and suddenly screamed “GO AWAY!” to no one in particular. At first I thought that he felt threatened by a somewhat surly CVS customer who kept rolling her eyes at Alex because he was singing to himself, and HOW DARE A CHILD DO THAT IN PUBLIC, but now I truly believe that my child was rebuking the spirit of home hair color oppression that had fallen all around me.

A little child will lead them, my friends.

But I was so blinded by my own transgressions that I couldn’t see straight.

Go ahead and raise a hand if you’ve been there, sisters. Go right ahead.

The Lord didn’t stop with Alex, however. Because a few minutes after I failed to heed the warning from my child, Melanie called.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Oh, um, just standing here in CVS. Looking at a few, um, highlighting kits.”

“DON’T DO IT!” she replied. “GET AWAY FROM THERE RIGHT NOW! DON’T DO IT!”

I’m telling you: the force behind her admonition was nothing short of GET THEE BEHIND BOOMAMA, SATAN.

I paused for a second, then tried to explain myself: “You know my situation. I have to do something. My roots are atrocious. I have to do something. I just have to.” And then I collapsed in a sobbing heap in the middle of aisle four.

Okay. Maybe notsomuch with that last thing.

But even still, my hardened heart was unreceptive to the home hair color truth. And despite Big Mama’s attempt at home hair color intervention, I closed my phone, grabbed my child’s hand and marched right up to the register with a box of highlights.

And I bought those highlights, y’all. I did.

Now I know – I KNOW – that it’s frustrating for you to read about my fall from professionally-administered highlights again and again. You and I both know that I know better – because I’ve been burned several times before. I have had more reconstructive color than the law should allow. But we all have areas that can be strongholds of temptation in our lives.

Home highlighting kits just happen to be one of mine.

But rest easy, internets, for this is actually A Story Of Hair Color Hope.

Because the week before I left for Africa, I stood in front of the mirror in our half bath and started to apply those home highlights. And I don’t know if you’ve ever had the Spirit just rise up in you and tell you to GO ON AHEAD AND FLEE from something, but that’s exactly what happened to me.

I dropped that highlighting wand like it was on fire. And I ran to our bathroom, jumped in the shower, and washed that bleach right out of my hair.

Oh yes I did.

Glory!

The road since then has not been completely free of home hair color temptation, however. Vanity scored a significant victory when I applied some temporary root touch-up color right before I left the country. And while I recognize that those sweet Ugandan children didn’t care one bit about the condition of my roots, I JUST WANTED TO LOOK CUTE FOR THEM.

AND I AM CUTER WHEN I’VE GOT MY BLONDE ON.

But three weeks have passed, and the temporary root touch-up, it has faded. It is as far as removed from my hair as the east is from the west. Which means I’m right back to where I was when I started this tumultuous hair color journey almost four weeks ago.

We have a Very Important Wedding to attend next weekend, and quite honestly I have been fearful of what my hair will look like by then. In fact, I have worried that the wedding festivities will be marred by my tri-color trainwreck of a hairdo. And I have prayed for the strength to stay away from aisle four of the CVS. Because I know that another trip down aisle four could take me farther than I ever wanted to go.

It could take me straight to brassy platinum blonde, y’all. Oh yes it could.

So you can imagine my delight in announcing that I am off to see The Wizard one week from today. I didn’t think it would be possible to get an appointment on such short notice, but she’s working me into her schedule.

The Lord has once again provided a way out, my friends. His grace knows no bounds. It covers a multitude.

And in about seven days, that grace will flow down and cover my roots with beautiful, evenly distributed highlights that will be applied by a licensed hair care professional.

Hallelujah.

And amen.

Congratulations, Tessa – you’ll be getting an email from the Ann Taylor LOFT Maternity people in the next day or two.

And thanks, everybody, for participating!

The four year-old and I had sort of a rough go of it last week. I’d been away for eight days. I came home, and he proceeded to test almost every single one of his boundaries with me. I was prepared for that to happen. But being prepared didn’t make it any easier.

So Friday afternoon, we hit the road, the boy and me, for a little Mother-Son Road Trip. We drove up to Nashville to see my sister and her hubby, who were gracious enough to accommodate a couple of last-minute guests.

It’s probably pretty telling that Alex and I both slept for ten hours Friday night. Not that our level of exhaustion had anything to do with all the head-butting.

Alex wanted to “play trains” Saturday morning, so we drove to the closest Barnes & Noble. As an added bonus, we also got to see the FryDaddy family (no, Angela didn’t wear The Jeans, but she did wear one of the cutest coats I’ve ever seen). The FryDaddies were smack-dab in the middle of their Saturday Basketball Extravaganza, OH BLESS THEIR HEARTS, but they made time to swing by the Barnes & Noble(s) and hang out with us in the children’s section.

I love it when new friends feel like old ones.

After we left the bookstore, Sister, Alex and I had Sonic for lunch BECAUSE WE ARE FANCY. Alex experienced his very first hockey game Saturday night, and when it was over we watched the end of the UT / Memphis game on the jumbotron and screamed our heads off because we’re a little cuckoo for the SEC.

And also: the Bulldogs won in overtime.

It was a really good day.

And I’m leaving out the part about what happened with my digestive tract yesterday because, well, I heart you, internets, and I would like for you to continue to feel comfortable when you visit here and BELIEVE YOU ME if I tell you what happened with my digestive tract yesterday you will never feel comfortable here again.

Not to mention that you would never be able to make eye contact with me if we were to meet in person.

Suffice it to say that yesterday’s trip home wasn’t exactly the most pleasant car ride of my life.

*shudder*

And I’m all better now.

By the way, I’m also leaving out the part about how I’m struggling a little bit right now with lots of post-trip emotions that render me very quiet and leave me feeling sort of disconnected, but I’m hoping that if I use enough capital letters and exclamation points IT WON’T BE TOO NOTICEABLE.

!!!

Oh, me and my ingenious diversions.