Labor day weekend

Rob, repairing some shingles. The neighbors were quite impressed with his roofing prowess. And the extension ladder (its a long story) was borrowed from none other than S.L.

This happens to me every time Martin goes back to Argentina. The last time was in November 2005, during the new moon, the night that Bryn was born. I was freaking out about my Leakey Grant and the toughness tester, and in the middle of a nervous breakdown, I decided to color my hair. The results were disastrous. I ended up jet black instead of a lovely “medium golden brown” like the girl pictured on the box. The color was “semi-permanent” and supposed to wash out in 28 shampoos. I must have washed my hair 28 times in the first 24 hours following the incident, but to no avail. I was still jet-black at Andy and Kim’s wedding in April. It had barely faded back to my natural color by August, which was when we left for Nicaragua.

Well, Martin is back in Argentina and—I don’t know if its some strange coincidence or not—but I reached the breaking point with my hair and decided that I needed it cut and colored again. Nothing drastic, just a bit of a trim and coloring to even out my sun-bleached ends and dark roots. This time I vowed that no mistakes would be made, so I enlisted the help of my trusted hairdresser of the past 25+ years (my mother). My hair has a mind of its own though, and I ended up about 10 shades darker than the smiling girl on the box. After my mom went home, I took matters into my own hands. The internet suggested a Prell treatment to lighten hair color that is too dark. You are supposed to apply Prell shampoo to your hair while it is dry and then let it set for 45 minutes before rinsing. I rushed out and bought some Prell to try this: when I did the rinse, the water was black, so I thought, hooray, the color has been lifted. But when it dried I could only see only a negligible difference. Another remedy was to wash the hair with Dawn dish detergent. I tried this too, but I’m not sure that it did anything. Maybe its because I used lemon-scented Dawn instead of the original formula. At any rate, the moral of the story is that Melissa should not ever, ever color her hair again-- or at the very least-- she should not use Clairol Natural Instincts products to do so. Its not so bad though. I love my new haircut, and the color--now slightly faded--is starting to get pretty cute too.

I wasn’t the only one to get a new ‘do this weekend. Rob finally took the clippers to his lovely curly locks. His shaggy look was a result of his going without a haircut for the last 4-1/2 months in Nicaragua (he elected to not bring clippers with him). For all 10 years that I’ve known him, he’s had a buzz cut, and this was the longest I’ve ever seen it. Here are some Before and After photos:

Who would have thought? After all this time, it turns out that Rob has curly hair.

Quite a change! Here’s the two of us, looking fabulous, with our new haircuts:

I tried everything: vinegar, olive oil, Prell, and Dawn dish detergent.

Other than haircuts, it was a weekend of many parties and seeing friends and family. Both of our parents came over, and we even had a surprise visit from Greg and Rachel, who have moved on to bigger and better things now that Greg has finished his PhD. I explained to my parents (who were here when they dropped by) that Greg is what we all aspire to be-- an anthropology PhD with a job.

On Sunday, Rob and I had a great time at Aimee and Brett’s cookout, and then on Monday morning, we went to a neighborhood coffee hour. I cannot really think of another way to describe it other than saying that it was a real hoot. Well first of all, I had gotten the time of the party wrong and Rob and I ended up showing up almost a half hour early--the first guests to arrive. No matter, the hosts were ready and waiting. Within two minutes of our arrival, they were showing us family photos and exclaiming how lovely it was that a nice young couple had moved into the house on the corner. I felt like I had known these people forever, and it just kept going on in this manner. As everyone else arrived, they all exclaimed over us too. I kept thinking, is this for real? I mean, how can people really be this nice? But they are! For example, just the third time we’d talked to our next door neighbors, they told us that whenever there is a tornado warning, we can come to their basement (because we don’t have one) and they also told us they would have a key made for us so that we could get in even if they aren’t home. The people here are so nice, I feel like I must be in Wisconsin or something. I guess this is the way life is in Historic Urbana. As one of the younger mothers told me, “Its a fish bowl here, but there are some good things about living in a fish bowl.”

We finished out the long weekend with another cookout at Cara and John’s, and since I just can’t shake this insomnia, I decided to blog it while it was all still fresh in my mind. Thanks for reading!