The Sum of our Hair

Sunday morning confessions- it's been more than a month since my last blog entry, and there are at least two previous events I'd been planning to record as soon as I had the time and good health to do so...but instead, I'm jumping right into the present. And the above picture says it all. Now I've started with the punchline, I'll fill in the details.

Throughout Zephyr's nearly five-year-old life, we have often had to correct people who have mistaken him for a girl. I never blamed well-meaning strangers for their misunderstanding. For one, he's been known to sport some pink. What can I say? The color suits him, and Jon and I aren't beholden to gender stereotypes. But mostly, it was his hair. We didn't cut it at all until he was two.

April 2006

And while the infrequent trims I've given him since then have reduced the length, they haven't quite fallen into the category of "standard boy cut." It wasn't a big deal. When people would compliment me on my beautiful daughters, I would politely let them know that I had one son (hand on Zephyr's head,) and one daughter (nodding towards Jubilee.) We loved Zephyr's hair, and knew that a "boy" haircut would be a big change, one that would propel him into the world of "boys who look like big kids." A wonderful place, sure, but for some reason, Jon and I have been dragging our feet getting there. It's very difficult to put into words, but I'll try: since the day Zephyr was born, life has kicked into turbo speed, and we are so in love with being parents to wee ones, it's almost like we want to be in denial he's growing up so fast. Anyway, it suited him just fine. He liked his style, and, having a seemingly inherent distrust for adults-who-want-to-get-in-his-business, including, to our chagrin, dentists and doctors, he was only too happy to dodge an appointment at the hair salon.

Lately, though, we'd noticed how his hair was getting in his way while sparring and playing basketball. And, with his fifth birthday approaching, Jon and I could no longer deny that he's an official little kid. Suddenly, I felt ready for a change. I became curious to see what his face would look like without all that hair covering it up. I brought the subject up to Zephyr, who would be enthusiastic one minute, hesitant the next. At one point he agreed to a haircut, but stipulated that I would have to do the honors. (A youtube search didn't reveal any promising secrets to a successful cut. Shudder.) Enter Zoraya. She has been a familiar face to Zephyr for years, as she takes her son, Xzaviar, to the same kindermusik class. After the promise of a fun family outing as a haircut reward, he agreed to let me make an appointment.

This took place on Friday, March 13th, at 4:30 pm.

He's smiling in that last picture, but does it look like a real Zephyr smile? We could tell it was his brave "game face." From there, he went directly to Carrie's, who talked excitedly about teaching him to use hair products to create spikes, horns, and other such things. She also gave him a highly coveted "poo" cookie, which helped turned the smile into a real one.

We had just a few minutes for reassuring hugs and snuggles before our visitor arrived.

Earlier that afternoon, our friend Marc called. Although Marc and I are getting close to our 12 year friendiversary, we don't, generally, call to shoot the breeze. (We facebook.) So, while the few minutes of small talk were nice, I had a feeling a request was forthcoming. "I'm driving out of town to teach for the weekend, and we have this situation where we just need a few days to find a no-kill shelter for Mia. I know it's a big favor, but is there any way possible you could watch her for three days?"

Mia's long story, as I understand it, shortened- Marc was renting a house from a friend who moved away. Two outdoor dogs came with the house. One of the dogs died, leaving Mia sola. Marc and his fiance, Debbie, buy another house, and quickly accumulate three more dogs, and Mia doesn't get along with them. Someone else is taking care of Mia, but she keeps running away, and Marc gets notified, since she's microchipped with his info. Finally, on Friday, Mia's previous owner called Animal Control to pick up Mia at the vacant house, which is now for sale. Mia is given five days to get picked up, or put down.
If you've known us long enough, you will immediately notice her striking resemblance to Jon's beloved dog, Bobby, who lived a long, happy life and died of natural causes in October of '03, five months after we married. Unless you know us really well, and really pay attention, you probably don't know that Bobby was instrumental in our engagement. We were out camping on April 5th, 2003, and I asked Jon to bring Bobby from the car into the tent, so we could help keep him warm. That night, unbeknownst to me, Jon watched me sleep curled around Bobby, and, touched by my compassion for his old, hairy, stinky dog, decided I was worth keeping. He proposed the next morning.

About 30 seconds after she arrived, we'd changed her name to Maisy. As we got ready for bed that night, I asked Jon to rate, on a scale of 1-10, how much he wanted to keep Maisy. "It's a big decision," he insisted. "A 3." "I think I'm at 8," I admitted, surprising myself.

Jon's hesitance had nothing to do with Maisy, herself, or with dogs in general. Jon, far more than myself, has felt connection with the four-leggeds in the past. But we both have a lot of lingering feelings about our last dog, Happy. Happy was probably about two when I met Jon. We lived in a tiny place, and although Bobby was allowed inside, it would have been disastrous to have Happy bounding around that home. He had a cozy doghouse, and we took him for walks nearly every day. We immediately became pregnant, then moved, then became pregnant again, then moved again...and I always thought that the time would come when I would get my act together, house train Happy, and really welcome him into our family and lives.

January of 2008, it seemed like the time was at hand. We brought a crate into the house and he came inside to sleep at night. I started taking him for walks with me more frequently. Then, on a Friday morning, he was suddenly reluctant to eat. We tried to make his food more appealing over the weekend, thinking he was just tired of the same-old same-old. By Sunday night, we were concerned, and made plans to take him to the vet when they opened on Monday morning. Jon went out to load him up at 7 am, and it was too late. Happy had died.

I, personally, felt a tremendous amount of guilt that I never had the chance to "do right" by Happy. To be honest, although our intentions were good, he received a minimal amount of attention. He had a nice, interesting yard, and all his needs were met, but his life never matched my vision of what a good dog deserves. It didn't help that our kids were very small and Happy was likely to knock them down when we were in the yard with him. We did all like to talk with him through the fence, and he would follow Jon around the yard when Jon was working there. Through tears, I told Jon, "Never again. Never again will we have an outdoor dog. If this family ever gets a dog again, she will be an indoor dog, a part of the family. And until we're ready for that, this family has no business even thinking about getting another dog." Jon readily agreed.

Truth be told, we hadn't been getting closer to being ready. When speaking candidly, I would admit that I enjoyed not having pet fur mixed in with the rest of our house's chaos, and Jon has been planting blueberry bushes and other fragile items in all the yards. Zephyr is extremely shy of dogs, and while Jubi likes them from a distance, she doesn't like it when they notice her.

And yet...by the time the kids and I returned from the farmer's market yesterday afternoon, Jon said, "I think we should keep her." Goodbye, furless home. Goodbye, berry plants. Goodbye, vacation ease. We don't travel much anyway. We've taken a vote, and we're now a family of five. Maybe I'm being overly optimistic, but I think what we'll gain from having Maisy is more than what we're losing. There will be no hesitations this time. Jon wants to take her to obedience school; I want to give her a bath. You, Maisy, will be the dog to heal our past, and we will be the family to end your search for a home.

We weren't looking for you, Maisy, but we welcome you into our lives.