I don't trust anyone who does their own hair -- Truvy (or my Mom....)

When the triplets were born my mom came for less than a week. She came again when they were all home from the hospital -- also for less than a week.

Trust me, I needed her longer. I wanted her there longer. I was terrified for her to leave me. And I knew that the woman who stood in my little bitty kitchen in our dorm apartment and whipped up the best coffee cake I have still ever tasted from the meager ingredients she could find in my cupboard -- the cupboard of a woman who had been on bedrest for the previous forevers -- was taking with her all hope of Wade and I eating anything homemade for years, possibly decades.

Don't misunderstand. Mama was crying as she left for the airport too. She didn't want to leave her little bitty grandbabies so soon. She didn't want to leave her sleep-deprived and slightly hormonal and overwhelmed daughter.

No she didn't want to, but here is the thing:

My Mama owns her own beauty shop. Claudia and Carolyn's Beauty Shop opened their doors when I was six years old. I remember the opening like it was yesterday. Mom, Dad, Aunt Claudia, Uncle Jimmy, and my cousins and I were at the shop every single night when they all finished their other jobs. The adults worked to outfit the shop, they worked to decorate the shop, they worked to ensure it would be a warm and welcoming environment for their customers (Jan, Angie, and I, for our part, explored the surrounding area and created all manner of emergencies but that is an entirely different story!)

I grew up in that shop. I no doubt talked the ears off many a woman. I would beg to brush their hair out before my mom began working her magic. I would sit beside them while they were under the dryers, listening as they told stories of their travels, their children, books they had read, and recipes they had tried. I cleaned Mama's brushes and took out the trash. I thought it was the greatest job ever. My mom making her friends look so amazing week after week.

A fire forced Mama and Aunt Claudia to re-locate the shop when the triplets were in preschool. My three and I drove to Mississippi to help -- it was all hands on-deck as we painted and decorated to get the new shop up and running so their customers could get back into their routine. Hair needs don't stop for disasters.

Grand Re-opening after the fire!

And man, how many of us can scream that they don't stop for pandemics either? My mom's shop doors have never been closed for this long. She has never in her adult life had this much time on her hands.

She isn't a fan.

And so from one woman with crazy bad roots right now, to all of you, can I assure you our hairdressers (stylists, barbers, whoever makes you look a world better!) are as frustrated with all of this as you are. They are following orders and staying home. But their fingers are anxious to pick up their scissors. They are ready to cut, style, curl, and coif. They are more than ready.

My dear stylist Karen in Delaware has walked me through temporary fixes for my own hair. We are counting the days and holding our breath, and praying that soon the salons will be allowed to safely open.

And so I am am imploring you to stay loyal to your hairdresser. Be patient when she opens her doors as she gets all her customers scheduled and made beautiful once again. Know that she is even more stressed and anxious to be working than you are about the split ends and ugly roots growing. She will fix it.  As soon as it is safe.

My girls learned early that there is nothing better than Grammie fixing your hair at her shop!

In the meantime, call your stylist for tips on keeping your hair healthy during this time. Call her to see if she is ok. And for goodness sake, take a minute to encourage her heart in this stressful stressful time. (I know from sitting in Mom's shop for my entire childhood, and I know from experience with my own stylists -- Victoria, Kelly, David, Karen -- over the years and around the country that you have been encouraged in hard times from the beauty chair!)

One of my favorite customers of Mama's died a few years ago. Mom texted that she was on the way to the funeral parlor to style her hair. I called immediately. "Mom, she was your friend. This is too hard." I implored her. "WHY would you put yourself through the emotion of fixing her hair?"

To which my mother replied: "I have done her hair for 40 years. I wouldn't trust anyone else."