Garden of Dandelions

I'm happy to report people have stopped looking at my chest to see if it's still mine. And have started looking at my hair to see if it's still mine.

Which, of course, it isn't. After having it come out in fistfuls and literally watching my highlights go down the drain, it was time.

A question I get asked frequently (understandably so) is, "How are the kids handling all this?"

The answer: Remarkably...Surprisingly...Oddly well. I'm not sure which adverb to pick exactly.

They still take their cues from us. Just like toddlers taking a tumble. Every parent knows not to gasp or suck in their breath. You say, in your best singsong voice, "Oopsie Daisie! Hop up!" They may look uncertain for a second, but when they see you're ok, they're ok. Same rule seems to have applied with my diagnosis and treatment.

Sure, there have been a few "Are you going to die?" discussions.

I put on a reassuring front and calm their fears. But also usually throw in, "Besides...there's no way I'm gonna miss out on tormenting you throughout your teen years. This is what I've trained for!"

I didn't want my head shaving to be a somber moment. But I didn't really expect the kids to get downright giddy about it. They were full of all sorts of crazy ideas so I just decided to humor them.

Reese called first dibs with the clippers.

Drue suggested I dye it a fun color right before we shaved it. And she wanted us to shave everything except my bangs to see what that would look like. Not a look I'll be repeating, that's for sure.

I was leery about the hair dye idea. But, really, what did I have to lose? All my hair! Naturally, we picked pink. So I bleached it and dyed it. All while more and more kept falling out around me.

We all gathered in the gazebo out back for my shearing. It seems like an eternity ago, but it's only been 3 weeks. And I still forget I'm bald most days until I pass a mirror. I envisioned myself looking like Demi Moore from G.I. Jane. And I guess I resemble her look a little, if part of her crew cut fell out in patches and she had random pink dye splotches on her scalp.

For insurance purposes my wig is a "cranial prosthesis". And my oncologist had to write a prescription for it. Which made me snicker.

We've actually had quite a few snickers over my lack of hair.

Each month I order two Target Beauty boxes for the girls and I to share. 6 out of 7 items in our last one were hair products. So the girls were pretty excited they each got a box all to themselves.

Drue straightened her hair one day last week when the humidity level was 112%. So she tried to finagle a ride to school so her curls wouldn't break through as soon as she stepped out the front door. When her request was denied she said, "Ugh! I'll just..." then trailed off and laughed guiltily. "You'll just what?" I pried curiously. "I was gonna say...cut it all off, " she confessed. Then promptly left for school without complaint.

I'm told my wig looks fairly similar to the haircut I got a few weeks before it all came out. Even the kids would ask before I lost my hair, "Wait, is that your wig?"

"Yep. I just left your room 5 minutes ago. But in that time, I shaved my entire head by myself in the bathroom and am now sporting my wig."

Cancer has taken many things from me. But not my snark.

I pull my wig off as soon as I get to my car after work, slap on my ball cap, and don't put it back on until I go back to work or church. I asked the kids if they wanted me to wear it to their school functions and they all said they didn't care. Tate was confused why I was asking. "Well, I thought you might want a Mom with hair to come to stuff, not your bald Mom in a baseball cap."

He still look confused and said, "I don't care. I mean, cancer is a good excuse to be bald."

Bless it.

The other day when I picked him up from practice after work I quickly said, "Oh! Don't sit on my hair," as he scrambled into the car. Felt super normal yet odd to say at the same time.

It was weird running errands for the first time with just my hat on. And running into people I know who aren't aware of this turn of events in my life is strange. "I look like a cancer patient," I lamented to David. "Well, Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you..." he replied.

My beauty routine has always left a lot to be desired. My makeup application takes about 4 minutes, I slap polish on my picked to nubs nails, and I usually check with the girls for their approval before buying any new articles of clothing. But it took me about 12 years to grow my hair out to the length it was, and I do kind of miss it.

But, hey, I am sporting that super cool scar on the back of my head I never thought I'd get to see.