Sweet Sorrow

How was that for self control?  The week flew by so fast, I hardly noticed that I didn't have a spare minute to post.

We enjoyed having Taylor home this week.  I think he rather enjoyed it, too.  We spent some good quality mom-and-son time as we ventured into the world of color correction.  When he arrived, he looked like this:

Taylor enjoys the world of hair color.  He has assisted several desperate college students friends with their attempts at makeover happiness.  He has dabbled in at-home hair color involving high-lift tints, bleach, and permanent colorization.  Occasionally on girls.  Obviously he is trusted.  Some may even believe he has a level of expertise, since his mother is a licensed cosmetologist.  I'm not sure if he has ever mentioned that she has not practiced (except on family) for years, and has never claimed to be a "colorist."

Hair color is tricky.  When I was in beauty school, our main focus was permanent waves (it was the 80's, you know).  Predominantly what we affectionately (or not) called "yellow rod perms":  time-consuming, meticulous rolling with the next-to-smallest perm rod known to man, on the heads of penny-pinching old ladies.  They would then ask for a shampoo/set, which involved rolling that new tightly permed gray hair on larger curlers, placing them under a dryer for 30 minutes, a good back-comb ("nice and tight, please, so it will last all week"), artistic combing of the fine hairs over the top, and a boatload of hairspray.

On occasion, a few of those nice old ladies would color her hair a deep, black color.  We would dutifully mix the color according to the pre-determined formula provided by our instructor, and do an oh-so-typical application.  Once or twice I had beauty school clients of the younger sort, and would get the chance to apply a weave:  highlights tediously woven throughout the hair, so as not to actually be seen, but to give the appearance of "naturally" lightened hair.  

Nothing like the dramatic hair color applications widely sought after today.

A few weeks back, Taylor had purchased a box of hair color.  He wanted his hair darker, and the darkish brown color on the box spoke to him.  AND it was only 3 bucks.  What a deal.  So he applied the caustic chemicals to his hair, and within a few days (or maybe weeks) he had twinges of color remorse.  It turned out a little darker than anticipated.  Luckily, he would be traveling home soon, and his mother, the "professional," could help him remedy the situation.

SO...  it has been a week-long process of trial and error, leading us through a world of reds and coppers, bleached-out roots, and several applications of drabbing ash-colored permanent AND demi-permanent colors.  I told Taylor, "color is not my area of expertise."  Now it should be permanently (or at least demi-permanently) ingrained in his psyche.  I learned some new things, like "color stripper is pretty much like bleach," and "color correction should be left to professional colorists with years of experience (which is why they can charge out the wazoo for it)"  Taylor learned, "don't use permanent hair color.  Ever."

The final results weren't stellar, but they were pretty good (maybe even pretty AND good).  In my humble opinion, he looked more natural AFTER our week-long process than he did before.  

We'll call it a success.

We had dinner Saturday night at our favorite family eatery, in preparation for bidding farewell the next morning.

This morning we had a group hug, and I attempted a picture.  I am not a photographer, either.  Our favorite inside joke, a la Grandma Goldsberry:  We could use it for our Christmas cards.  Oh, except Britta's not here.  

(We hope to have a visit from Britt VERY soon.)

And the sweet sorrow of parting:

Mauri cried after Taylor left, lamenting that they didn't get to accomplish all she had planned for them to do together during the week.  Chin up, I told her, he will be back.  Soon.  Those Adventure Time episodes can wait.  Think of all the fun we DID have:  Sonic, Panda Express, and Dominos; Wii, Say What? and Catch Phrase.  Not to mention the Colorfest. 

It. Was. Awesome.