#pigtails

I’m not sure when it began, but something tells me it has to do with Pippi Longstocking. Or Cindy Brady. But for as long as I can remember, I’ve had a penchant for pigtails. Now that my hair has grown out again, I’m asking myself…well? Gonna do it?

The option of pigtailing my daughter’s hair was stunted early in my motherhood. Her tender scalp and vociferous objections made brushing nearly impossible. Anything beyond a gentle finger comb was received with a scolding from a very articulate 3-year-old. Obviously, this was disappointing. I mean, all of those years of practicing on my Crissy doll were basically a waste of time.

Periodically, my now college-age girl, will let me play with her hair–as long as she has no plans of going out or seeing anyone worthwhile, which I don't understand because the pigtails are simply smashing on her. Hardly any difference in the cute factor when comparing her toddler days and now.

I did that hair.

I did that hair.

Yet, the jury is still out how the pigtails projects on a middle-ager. At one time, I know I rocked it:

One of my more photogenic moments.

But what about now?

Once when I was in college, my mother had taken me shopping and I was on a mission to purchase a pair of Keds tennis shoes. As we sorted through style options, Mom excitedly pulled out a pair of red ones. Red ones? I specifically remember telling my mother I was much too old for such ostentatiousness. And I was at the age when you can get away with ostentatious! Twenty-years old? I should’ve been wearing those red tennis shoes with a bikini. Sure, I've always leaned on the conservative side, but I think back to that story (and many others) and realize how early insecurities are formed. And it obviously wasn't coming from my mother who was pushing the red shoes.

Thus, the debate of my pigtailed-self continues. Should I or shouldn’t I? Maybe I should fast-forward forty years when I’m 87. I’ll think back to that day when I was 47, and I’ll say, “Of course you should’ve done the damn pigtails! You were only a kid then!”

Okay. Maybe. At least, around the house for a start.

Pippi, eat your heart out.