We were on vacation out West this week and the hotel we stayed at had this beautiful flag up. I could see it from the pool I spent some quality time in. I thought about it a lot.
I’ve always loved the flag. I’ve always loved this country. Even though I wasn’t born here, I consider this my home. I was naturalized here. Became a citizen here. As I’ve said in other posts, I spent the majority of my childhood wanting to pretend I was from nowhere else. It didn’t work.
I’ve traveled to my share of other countries, including the one I was born in. Those places are amazing. I want to see more places all over the world. But then I want to come home. To America.
I’ve only seriously considered moving to one other country (hello Ireland!), but there’s no Dunkin’. So there goes that.
In the last few years I’ve noticed a big change. I didn’t know if it was just me or not. I’m feeling like I’m on the wrong team to love the flag. Like unless I agree with a certain ideology or belief system, the flag isn’t for me.
I asked some good friends their opinion on this to make sure I wasn’t just overthinking it. Overthinking is my superpower.
One of them, whose family has been here since and fought in the Revolutionary War, told me she feels the same way.
Another, whose father and grandfather were in the military, told me that they were disgusted with the way the flag was being used. No real veteran wants to pit Americans against each other.
I should be able to fly the flag proudly and still be ok questioning laws, people, policy etc. That’s how it all began here. From day one. British rule, fleeing Pilgrims and slaughtered Indians… remember?
That flag has been through a lot. And I’m sure we’ve got more changes coming.
But I’m pretty confident that the flag isn’t just for some Americans. Flying it doesn’t mean you love your country the most – and not flying it, kneeling in front of it or turning your back to it doesn’t mean you hate it. It’s bigger and deeper than that.
I think all this mess started with this “melting pot” business. Newsflash- melting together isn’t working people! The emulsification isn’t taking. We’re too different. Too unique in our own ways to blend together.
Plus we’re all so problematic. We have a ton of issues. There’s lots of learning to do. So we will never be a true pot of melted goodness.
So what. That’s fine. Let’s be stew. Big, sloppy chunks of different ingredients coming together to form one nation, under God or Bravo. With one flag. My flag. And your flag too 🇺🇸.
I just went to the grocery store this weekend. On the door it says, “If you HAVEN’T been vaccinated, we RECOMMEND a mask”. But when you enter the store there’s a sign that says, “Don’t forget your mask!” – just like that. With a friendly exclamation point. You could also take the exclamation mark as an order, but I’m assuming best intent here.
Almost everyone in the store had a mask on. A few didn’t. Even the workers were a mixed bag. Some had it on, some didn’t. I ended up putting it on. Then I was in the pickle aisle and no one had it on, so I took it off. Then I went to the diary aisle and everyone had it on, so I put it back on. I’m losing my mind.
I liked it when we were all doing the same thing. Wearing masks or not wearing masks. This weird middle time is not good for me.
Now this post isn’t for those that believe there’s no virus or that this is a global hoax. No, bless your hearts, you can keep going about your day.
This is for those people like me. I know it’s real. I followed all the rules. I made a pod. Wore the mask. I tried to be as safe as possible. But when restaurants opened up slowly last year – we went. First only outdoor, but then slowly indoor. When stores opened – we went. When vaccines came out, we got it.
We have close friends that have lost family to Covid. I’m not diminishing the severity of what we just went through – but I’m also desperately wanting it to be over.
Isn’t it possible for me to completely believe in the science of it and also want to wear lipstick again? I’m just so done with it.
If there was a scale from 1-10, 1 being the folks who thought it was a hoax, and 10 being the people who washed their delivered groceries in the garage until last week – I’m a solid 6. Maybe a 5.5. My family was careful for sure. But not the most careful, if you know what I mean.
At the beginning of the month we had a family wedding where there were literally people called “mask police”. Worst job since Norton on the Honeymooners. They would follow you around and if you were not sitting – you needed your mask on. Fair enough. My entire family was fully vaccinated at that point but I did what they asked. No big deal.
Compare that to a week ago when many of the restaurants near us dropped the capacity rules. My husband and I did our all time favorite thing. We had dinner at the bar. They still had those plastic shields up, but it was great. I want more of that.
I want no masks. I want parties. I want to go to Shoprite without hyperventilating and figuring out which aisle I’m allowed to walk into. But I want everyone to do it together. Impossible?
I thought it would be easier. I thought I’d be ok with the “you do you” approach. But it’s causing me anxiety.
You know who I like? Airports. I like airports. They have a rule. Everyone needs a mask. Done and done.
You know who I also like? All the places we went to this past weekend on the Jersey shore. They had no signs at all. No one wore a mask. Not even the servers. So we didn’t either. And we were not sorry.
I like wearing a mask on a plane or a train. I don’t like wearing a mask almost anywhere else.
I cannot be the only one. Mask haters when fully vaccinated unite!
Today is our 25th anniversary. Our silver jubilee!
Last night at 10:40pm my husband of a quarter of a century said,” what do people do for their 25th anniversary? A party or something?”
He’s all mine ladies. Has been for multiple lifetimes according to some. Let me explain.
Because I like to throw money away, I go to a lot of psychics and readers. One of these readers told me that Joe and I have been married before. Many times. During many lives.
Really? Us? I loved hearing it and yet instantly doubted it.
“That’s so funny because really we are like oil and water” I said,” very different”
The reader took both my hands (this was way before Covid) and looked me dead in the eyes.
“Oil and water? No no, that’s not right. You are oil and vinegar. You emulsified. Transformed. You are perfect together” she said.
I cried ofcourse. And gave her a big tip. All these years I walked around thinking we were oil and water. Never mixing. Two different to combine. She turned it upside down. Or maybe she right sided it. She may have been a total hoax, I’ll never know. I didn’t go back to her again. I was afraid the magic moment would never happen twice.
So today, to celebrate this union of salad dressing, I thought I’d share some moments from our 25 years. These pictures doesn’t show the fights and pain and anger and sorrow – which are in between these happy moments.
It’s been good and bad and better and worse. It’s been everything you can probably imagine and everything you’ll never know. Thanks for letting me share.
How it started…
90s dorm room fashion! Denim on DenimHe went to an empty classroom and surprised me with this. I walked out of my class to go to the next one and he was there, waiting to show this to me. Creepy and cuteSo many questions with this one. 1) Why did we feel the need to take a pic in front of Walmart? 2) We brought a camera to Walmart? 3) Who the heck took the pick?
We graduate and elope!
May 12, 1996, East Hampton NYThis is where our honeymoon pic should be. But because we eloped so quickly the first trip my new husband took was with his best friend to London and Amsterdam. Every new marriage should start with a trip apart. NotThis was a year later. Our honeymoon trip to Bermuda. I look at this pic and only see my healthy, shiny hair. I have issues.
This next set of pics is called – BABIES HAVING BABIES (on purpose)
Kera in my big belly, our NYC railroad apartment Sure! Stand in the middle of Lexington Ave in NYC with a newborn in your hand. Totally safe. You’re in good hands baby girl! Jack in my big belly, Fishkill, NY
Since it’s my Jubilee (said like Elaine says fiancé on Seinfeld), I’m going to be indulgent and keep sharing…
Joe told us he was taking us to tour Martha’s Vineyard. In reality we toured all the spots they filmed the movie Jaws. I was less than pleased. Brussels for the day. We took the metro from Paris. Everyone spoke English. Ugly sweater contest that I won but my neighbor stole the votes (I know what you did Jeff!)I now like a beach thanks to this man. I also like an umbrella, a visor, and SPF 100.One of my favorite pictures. Nothing makes him happier than a belly full of steak. I think I had creamed spinach that night. Thanks for nothing Peter Lugers.
The years, the months, the hours. I remember every minute of it, and yet it’s a blur! From the missteps we made, to the mountains we moved together, I’m so happy we went for it.
So the last post was about unwanted conversations and maybe this is part 2? Or a prequel? It’s connected for sure.
I don’t know what’s going on but I’m finding myself much less willing to chit chat.
I’ve never loved small talk but lately I have no use for it.
Last week I joined a call early and found myself alone with someone I barely know at work. She started the usual weather convo and I just couldn’t do it.
I asked her how she survived Covid. Did she get sick? Did she know anyone that did? Does she live alone?
Let’s just say she was surprised by the direction of the conversation. I think her response was,” yeah it’s ok” before someone else joined and she was put out of her misery.
Maybe it’s because last year brought me all the feels. Sadness. Anger. Stillness. Joy. How am I expected to come out of a Global Pandemic and a social justice juggernaut unaffected?
I can’t talk to you about weather! We were just in a fox hole making banana bread to avoid the news. Don’t you have PTSD when you look at puzzles like I do? We’ve changed together haven’t we?
I want to know more about you. And faster.
Did you spend last year alone? Or where you trapped with your family?
Did you think it was a hoax? Or did you wash delivered groceries in the garage with gloves on?
Did you get a pet or a therapist or both? I need to know.
Are you like me, feeling optimistic and ready to party? Or are you still cautious and taking it slow?
I sound like a lot. Maybe I’m the unwanted conversation now.
I don’t want to sound cheesy and say that I’m appreciating things more and enjoying things more – but I kinda am.
I still don’t want to hear an Uber driver tell me his deepest darkest racist thoughts. But I do want to get to know my people more.
And by my people I mean the ones in my life. For whatever reason. Work. Friendship. Family. I’m done with small talk. That’s PC to me. Pre-Covid.
Some of you won’t notice a change at all – because we’ve always gone deep. But others I admit I can do better with.
I have always been a pretty forthcoming person. I’m a bad liar so I avoid it most of the time, which is a good thing. But I’m also bad about bringing up tough stuff. I have a habit of keeping things “light”. I want to change that up a bit. I mean there will still be time for vapid, silly rabbit holes about Bravo shows and I’ll never let go of Tik Tok – but it’s time for balance, I think.
I hereby pledge to not ask surface, generic questions. I promise to listen – really listen – not just think of a response as you’re talking. I promise to ask more things about you and talk less about me. And I promise not to take you for granted. Not for a minute. I’ve missed our time together and if we get it back – I’m using it better.
Don’t be scared. It sounds intense but it won’t be. It’ll just be Big Talk. Deep Talk. Fun Talk. Sad Talk. Real Housewives Talk. Anything but Small Talk.
If you are a child or grandchild of an immigrant, then the answer is most likely yes. You’ve had this blue tin in your home. You may still have it, full of nails or thumbtacks or something. Check your junk drawer.
We never had Oreos or Chips Ahoy in our house – not that I remember. We had Parle G biscuits and this blue tin. Parles were shipped from India and never came in a big package. You got them in these little packs of 10. Most likely due to how many preservatives you were allowed to ship at once overseas. They were/are sweet and crispy – with just enough aftertaste to know the FDA didn’t approve them.
Yes that says Glucose!
Listen, there’s no such thing as a bad cookie right? So I’m not complaining.
My husband, on the other hand, did grow up with Oreos and Chips Ahoy. But he also spent a lot of time with his beloved Nana. She was a feisty, strong Ukrainian woman who came to this country without much and raised four sons. As the matriarch of the family, she had all the grandkids over every weekend and holiday. And ofcourse, she always had this blue tin of cookies.
The cookies were super simple. Just a shortbread cookie. Each tin had a few different shapes that all basically tasted the same.
I got excited last week when I saw a cute little version of the blue tin. I grabbed it right away for my husband. Thinking it would make him smile and be reminiscent about his childhood. When he saw the tin, he immediately smiled and cracked it open. It didn’t taste the same. Something was different.
We took a closer look and it turned out that this tin was a phony. A fake.
Artificially flavored?? Danish Delights? Oh no. And here’s the real kicker…
PRODUCT OF INDIA!!
My poor husband. He just can’t get away from products from India. Lol!
When this first started it was scary and jolting and downright horror movie-like. Many things about 2020 still are. Hundreds of thousands of people dead, businesses shuttered, jobs lost, all awful. I know it’s serious. I am not making light of that at all. I know this is no joking matter…but humor is how I deal. If I’m not laughing, I’m crying. Which I think is the definition of a psycho or a clown. I’m one of those for sure. Or both.
Anyway there were/are some small, happy turn of events in all this madness. Things that were little spots of joy, and I’m not talking about sourdough starters.
1) Plans got cancelled. Really important things got cancelled like weddings and birthdays and baby showers – which is awful. But I have to be honest. I was overextended. Weekends booked for months on out, a calendar full of plans (all good stuff). It simply evaporated. Poof. Gone. Once I got over the initial sting, it was all ok. There was no FOMO (fear of missing out) because nothing was happening. We were all finally in the same boat. Home. Isolated. I know it wasn’t good for everyone. I know I was lucky to be baking and cooking and puzzling, while others struggled. I do know that. I’m just so grateful for my time. It was surreal and odd, but also kinda great.
2) Masks are fine with me. I’m gonna tell you a secret. People are fucking disgusting. They snort, they sneeze, they walk around with pneumonia with not a care in the world. People are DIRTY. They just are. I know, I know, not you! Never you! But other people. They don’t wash their hands. They don’t cover their mouths. They are walking geysers of germs. Exploding at every turn. We needed a good dose of hand sanitizer in our lives. Some more than others.
3) Outdoor restaurants with people seated 6 feet away from you. Genius! Let’s never go back! I never want to be in a packed bar or restaurant again. Ever. I want all of them to do well but I don’t want to ever feel like a sardine again. No reservation, no service? I’m in!
4) Teens and kids with minimal places to go. I don’t know about you, but my family had more family meals together in March and April then we’ve had for years! Sometimes we had MULTIPLE meals together at the table. WTF!
5) Office time productivity was always a scam. Someone put that on a pillow. We never needed to commute!! Grrrrr! All those hours on the train for what? So we could be in person for meetings that should have been emails?? Or commute in so you could sit at your desk on calls all day? As god is my witness I’m never doing that again… I mean until they make me…then of course I’ll do it again.
6) We cooked. A lot. I love to cook but this much cooking was next level. And we baked. And by “we”’I don’t mean my family. I mean me and the collective universe. We cooked and baked a lot. I think I made 1 million egg sandwiches. I also made eggplant bolognese, Thanksgiving turkey in April, cookies, cakes, and on and on. Not all of it was good, r.i.p vegetarian matzo ball soup, but most was. Just ask my pre-Covid pants.
7) Pods!! Pods!! We have a pod. A group of people who we have been lucky enough to live next to that has saved our sanity! We are safe. We don’t travel. We wear masks. It’s not perfect but it’s kept me happy. Backyard get togethers, front yard get togethers… thank goodness for these times with friends who became family.
When this comes to an end (come on vaccine!) I hope we continue some pandemic traditions. Not too many people in the store, zoom calls from near and far, free weekends, and disinfectant everywhere… that was enjoyable.
What helped you? What got you through? I’d love to know. We are almost there…
Scenes from a pandemic…
One of 8 puzzles we did March – MayZoom, zoom, zoom Masks on! They love it when I show people this pic Pod! Food for the pod !Dessert for the pod!
This past weekend my daughter went into New York City to visit a friend. On the way back, on the train, there was an incident. She texted me that the train had stopped about 50 miles from our station with no message from the conductor on what happened or how long it would be.
“Wait it out”, I said, “I’m sure you’ll be moving soon.”
An hour later she texted me, “They made us get off the train. There was a jumper.”
A jumper. I got a pit in my stomach. A jumper. I wrote back some words of encouragement and she said she’d write me with what she was planning on doing. A few minutes later she’d found someone to share an Uber with to our station.
Usually I wouldn’t think twice about this and I’d be happy she had a solve. But it’s Covid and everything is skewed in my brain. Who are they? Is it safe? Blah blah blah…. on and on and on. But I know her. She’s been so careful and she’s so smart – I told myself to back off (backing off is NOT in my DNA btw) and let her figure it out.
Another hour later she texted me her ETA and I said I’d be there to pick her up. I got there early and sat in the car. While I waited in the car I started thinking about the sad soul that died. And, as per usual, instead of thinking a happy thought or distracting myself – I went down a deep rabbit hole. It’s like my superpower.
Those of us that take mass transit often are used to the signs on the platform. They usually say something like, “You are not alone” or “If you need to talk, we are here.”
I started googling statistics and learned that more than half of train accidents involve a suicide. And that over 60% of engineers will have an incident during their careers. Heartbreaking all around.
By the time Kera got there I was totally wound up.
She texted me that she was here and that she saw my car and was headed over. I got my shit together. Put on Pop2K on the radio and opened the window to get some fresh air. My only saving grace during my sad deep dive was that I hadn’t cried. Points for that! No red eyes to cover up.
Although her catching me crying would have been nothing new. My kids and husband have both walked in on me many times in the middle of a good cry about, you name it, Syria, childhood hunger, poverty and said,”uhhhh are you ok?” What a silly question. When have I been ok??
Here’s the good part.
As she walked to the car I noticed that she wasn’t alone. There were two older ladies with her. Kera said,” Mom the two women I rode with want to meet you.”
Then these two, sweet women proceeded to tell me that they wanted, needed, to meet the mother of this wonder girl that had helped them. They were going to Philadelphia – hadn’t traveled this way before – and had no idea of what to do when the train shut down. They said there were just standing on the platform in a daze when Kera approached them. They had never Uber’d before. They didn’t know how that worked but knew instantly that they could trust this girl. They called her a blessing. Called her an answer to a prayer and many other gushy things. And I did what I think any respectable mother would do. I started sobbing uncontrollably. From the look on their faces – they weren’t expecting that.
None of what they said was a surprise and Kera was probably mortified by the scene I caused – but here’s the thing. I was in my hole of sadness and they pulled me right out. Catapulted me right out. I told them how grateful I was for their kind words and how much I had needed to hear something good and positive. We said our goodbyes and I asked Kera what their story was.
Two sisters, part of a big family from Belize. They’d just had a death in the family and were traveling from New York City to Philly to be with everyone.
I took a deep breath as we drove home.
I’m so glad for them that Kera found them. And I’m so glad for Kera that she has another story to tell from that day. The story that has some bad, but also some good.
August. You crazy, nutty bitch. You’ve given and you’ve taken away. You’ve made me insanely happy and insanely sad. At the end of this year, when I think about all the best times and the worst times – I’ll think of you.
I’ll think of my daughter finishing up a summer in New York City doing an internship. She loved the work. She loved the city. She loved her roommate. Every time I spoke to her I heard excitement and confidence. I don’t know what I would have done if a child of mine hadn’t loved the city that I love. I would have gotten over it, sure. But I would have held a grudge, truthfully. I would have looked at her with a raised eyebrow…. what’s there not to love? But thankfully she felt exactly the same way I feel. Her exit interview with the CEO included an offer for her to come back and work there. Ofcourse it did. Who wouldn’t want her? A high high for sure. This is her below – one in from the left..the one with the big smile on her face.
When she finished with that internship and finally came home, we all went away for our annual summer vacation. This year, to Iceland. It seemed more like a week on the moon. Beautiful. Striking. Gorgeous. Everywhere you turned looked like a green screen version of reality. Even now, when we look at photos – they look fake. And the country is as friendly as is it beautiful. We spent a week exploring, climbing, hiking, swimming, eating and sometimes fighting (let’s be honest). But it was still perfect. Another high high.
While my girl was spending her summer bulking up her LinkedIn profile, my son spent the summer learning how to surf. He never took a formal lesson (to my chagrin), he just learned from friends. He fell in love with it. Which made total sense. He’s a great swimmer, he loves his skateboard….ofcourse he’d love surfing! It all added up. Once he’d had his fill of beach trips he started looking for a job. I suggested he take a lifeguard class, and miraculously, he agreed. He passed the class and got a job as a lifeguard at a local cougar haunt..errr I mean gym. My little baby boy was going to save lives! Ok…not really. But he was going to watch little brats while their parents got drunk at the pool bar – that’s something to be proud of right? The kid who I have to sometimes remind to brush his teeth, got a job. He had to fill out a W9! What is happening here??!! A high for sure.
I have one more little high. My work team got together for an offsite. We met for a day of eating and drinking and swimming. No agenda. No work talk (that wasn’t juicy gossip). Just fun. It’s a humbling, lucky thing to get along with the people you work with. It’s a miracle to like them. Maybe even love them! This group of people that I work with makes the job feel like fun. And we’ve been through some ugly times. I mean…ugly. But at the end of the day – we stick together. I can’t imagine my time at this company without them. High high! This pic isn’t from this year but I love it.
So that leaves the low. The low low.
And it really was the lowest low.
About a year and a half ago, my husband’s aunt was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer.
Let me back up.
Mary Ohl was born Mary Dahill – we all called her Dee Dee. Sister to Terry and Peggy. Mother to her boys. Wife to Dennis and then Walter (or Teddy, as we know him).
Fiery redhead and New York City hellraiser, she spent her early years drinking, working and causing overall havoc. Eventually she settled down – had her boys – and became a nurse.
By the time I met her, she had already retired. She was no longer a nurse. She no longer drank. No longer raised havoc – atleast not in the bars in the city. By the time I met her – she was a devoted mother to her son Dennis. Dennis was born with a form of retardation that she never actually explained to any of us. All we knew was that he was special needs, but I’m not sure we could ever verbalize what he had. Which is exactly how she liked it. She told me once that during Dennis’ early years, she tried to ignore his disability. She pretended it didn’t exist. She ignored it. She had a ton of guilt about those fuzzy years that were drowned in alcoholism and dysfunction.
It wasn’t until she got sober that she found her true calling. To give Dennis a life. A big, full, complete life. She spent over two decades researching every resource avialable to him, every opportunity due him. She joined national organizations, gave speeches, helped find programs to help him – anything she could do to solidify his independance, she did. She even helped other parents find the same resources she found.
Today, Dennis is a happy, nurtured man. He has a job. He lives on his own (with some angels who take care of him). He makes his own decisions and choices. He loves music and he loves to dance, like his momma.
As a mother, I think I’m doing all I can to make my kid’s lives better. I usually feel pretty good about it – until I compare it to what Dee Dee did. The cold, hard focus she had to make sure he had everything owed to him was and is a lesson.
She was amazing. She had a wicked sense of humor, she was overly generous but at the same time – she held a mean grudge. She laughed hard. She yelled hard. She was a dycotomy, like all amazing people are.
We found out about her Cancer from other people. She never called or told anyone. In fact she was pretty pissed when we all showed up to her hospital room before her surgery. Even then she pretended all was well, annoyed that we were making such a big fuss about it.
The day she came out of her surgery, she started planning Dennis’ 50th Birthday party. And boy was it a party!
12 months after that, a few weeks after Dennis’ 51st birthday party, she took a downturn. There’s a Tom Petty song that I think of whenever I think of her….it’s called “Swingin”. The line in the song is, “..and she went down….swinging”. That’s Dee Dee. Swinging.
We came back from Iceland on Saturday. We went to go see her on Sunday. She passed a day later. The lowest low. The bottom of the lows. An angry low. I didn’t realize how angry I’d be. I hated them all. The hospital. The doctors. The oncologist. The social workers. The nurses. I felt like they all betrayed her. Betrayed all of us. Why didn’t they prepare us for how quickly things would go downhill? Why didn’t they tell us how drastic the road would be? It was a low low low.
But, in all honesty, I think if you would ask her, she wouldn’t agree. She lived on her own terms. She did exactly what she wanted to do. She never ever followed advice or listened to anyone – stubborn to the end. She lived every day after her diagnosis by her own terms. Her rules. She was a force of nature. And nature is beautiful and destructive and unpredictable. It all makes sense. It’s probably exactly as she planned it.
August is over. September is here. This weekend our family will celebrate new babies coming this fall and spend time planning a happy wedding next summer. The weekend after that we continue the celebration with another family wedding, and the happy times continue. Just like Dee Dee would want them to.
Here’s to the high highs and even the low lows. I hope they never end.
Did you see this article? Finally the New York Times and the world is acknowledging something I’ve been talking about for over a decade.
I’ve been saying this since 1997. In the theater. As we’re watching the movie. I was saying this. Rose….there’s room for both of you! Make some f’ing room for Jack! But nope, she just watched him freeze to death.
Listen, back in 1997 even my husband and I could fit on that door. Now, deep in our 40s….maybe not so much. But back then we sometimes slept on a twin mattress together – on purpose.
Anyway this post isn’t really a post. I just feel so validated. So heard. Finally. This post will not go on…. get it?
What if I told you that sometimes I know if I’ll have a good day or not by about 6:30 am? It doesn’t matter what I’m doing, who I’m seeing, what day it is, nothing. It doesn’t matter if the big meeting went well, if my kid got an A on the test, or if I finished a big project – although all those things happening would be great! The thing that can make or break my day is….get ready….my hair. That’s right. My hair. If it looks good, I’m good. I spend a lot of quality time thinking about my hair. One of the happiest days of my life (besides the birth of kids, marriage, etc) was the day I found a hairstylist that blows out my hair the way I like it. Lydia Esteban, you complete me. Lydia knows that although I don’t have one Southern bone in my body, I like big hair. She knows I don’t want a flat, sleek look. I want girth. I want body. She’s my hair soulmate – and I’m never telling you where to find her.
Hair takes up a lot of brain space. When I travel for work to a hot, humid place, I spend at least half my packing time thinking about what impact the local weather will have on my hair. Will I be able to wear it down? Will I need extra headbands? Should I even go on this trip based on the high humidity levels? These are real conversations I have with myself.
Last year I discovered dry shampoo. LIFE ALTERING dry shampoo. It was the biggest thing to happen to me since….blow-outs. I’m not sure who invented it – but I hope they get whatever the hair equivalent to a Pulitzer is.
I know I’m not alone in this obsession. Most of the women in my life care/worry/think about their hair all the time. I only know one freaky friend who has such good hair she can literally wash and go….literally. No Brazilian treatments in her hair, no expensive straightening products, no crazy tools. A brush and sometimes a hair dryer. I’ve even seen her hair naturally dry straight and with no frizz! WTF. I’ve seen it. It’s natural but it’s not normal. It’s not fair. I’m talking to you Julie! If you weren’t such an amazing person I’d be bitter about it. Ok who am I kidding, I’m still bitter about it.
As you can imagine, I’m always on the hunt for hair products to help make my days better. Like dry shampoo, I’ve also discovered clay shampoo and hair masks to help tame my ‘fro. I know there are a bunch of #womenrule people out there who think I should make nice with my semi-kinky, wavy, sometimes frizzy hair. But as I’ve said about my fight against wrinkles – why go natural when there are chemicals that can help? Poetic right?
Last week, as we were in the midst of a week-long event and I was on day 3 of my dry shampoo run, with no Lydia in sight…I found out about this amazing tool. This is not an ad!
The Revlon One Step Hair Dryer and Volumizer
It was an innocent conversation that one of the mom-planners was having about how this hairbrush/hair dryer combo had helped her teen. Before she even ended her story, I was on Amazon having one delivered to my hotel room. There were still 4 days left to the conference and with Prime I could have it the next day! Done done done. Would it be as good as she described? I was willing to take the bet.
And guess what? It was. It is. Let me begin by saying it’s cheap. Under $50. And, this is the best part, you don’t have to pre-dry your hair. It’s all one step!! It’s a one-handed miracle. There are over 6,000 plus reviews online. Are they all good? Nah – but did I tell you it was cheap? Even if it only lasts a few months, I’m in. I even debated posting about this because I’ll be buying these as gifts for the rest of the year, but I needed to tell you.
Below is a closer look. Don’t mind the Spanish, I accidentally changed my Amazon language settings and can’t figure out how to change them back.
Here’s what my hair looked like from wet to dry with this brush… not bad right? Who needs Lydia?! Kidding! I do…
Anyway – this post is dedicated to all my fellow hair obsessed gals. Remember when all I talked about was my Dyson hairdryer? Well mamas got a new favorite. You’re welcome.
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