Why I Dread

I started dreadlocks eight months ago when Steven died, and then Plain Ol' Grammy died.  The world turned upside down.  Grief besieged me.  Two lives ended, and nothing was good, or right, or beautiful.

My hair became an outward symbol of the tangled mess living ... and dieing ... are.  My hair became a sloppy-looking hope, that someday this mess will be manageable, live-able, maybe even sort of lovely.  It is a daily reminder for me that there's not always a "cure" for the mess.  Sometimes you just have to ride the fuzzy mess with your eyes closed and try to keep your feet under you.  And sometimes the mess will surprise you, and you will feel loved and beautiful despite the mess, and really know that this sort of love is best:  the love that loves despite, or even because of the tangles.

My dread locks are not what I expected.  Some days I wonder, "What have I done?!" but most days I think, "This is the best decision I've ever made".  They are a challenge to clean (yes I clean my dreads regularly!).  They do not allow my husband to give me a scalp massage (oh I miss head rubs!).  They get stuck in tree branches and in zippers and my children like to pull on them.  They are moody, they are frizzy, and they sometimes bring strange looks down people's noses in my direction.

I'm told dread locks take a while to mature.  When they're mature they require much less maintenance.  I imagine that's the way of most things.  My grief included.  Perhaps it too, will mature, and become more manageable.  Some days I can't believe that I go on living - without Steven in the world.  Without Grammy.  I'm always amazed that another day has gone by without the influence of that soul on this time.  I love that every time I catch my reflection in the mirror, my hair reminds me of my loved ones.  And happy coincidence: the conception of these dreads coincides with the conception of a third little Thiessen baby.

But most of all, these dread locks of mine are accurate.  This is a hair style that screams, "LAURA".  My life is a mess, my hair is a mess, but I have hope because God loves beautiful things, and can make beautiful things out of this crazy life, out of this crazy grief, out of this most crazy time.  I keep looking for beauty in the tangles.  I keep hoping.  And I accept the mess, the grief, the tangles, for now.  They are where I am.  They are okay - more than okay!  They are right.

Them Dreads

There is a man in Winnipeg who has made and maintained African and Caucasian dreadlocks in his hair studio for over 25 years.  Tomorrow I am going to go see him for a consultation.  Then I will (hopefully!) make an appointment to have my dreads professionally maintained sometime before the baby is due, so that I have hands-free dreads when baby comes along and needs all my hands.

I started my dreads when Steven and Grammy died in quick succession, this Spring.  They are now nearly 8 months old.  That's how people talk about their dreads.  They talk about "how old" they are, and they recognize them as individuals so the hair is no longer singular "Hair", but plural and personified, "Them".  I have begun to do the same.  This hair of mine has developed a lot of personality in the last eight months.  And while it has made me a few new friends, some very close acquaintances don't quite know what to do with "Them" (ahem, husband).  Still, it seems most people are 100% on board when I tell them my dreads are in memory of Steven and of Grammy.  I tell them these dreads of mine are an outward symbol of my inner, tangled mess of grief.  Then people nod and smile and give me the thumbs up.  Most likely because they're 100% certain by now that I'm a lunatic and their personal safety is in question.  To be fair, some of them legitimately get it.

The last few months with my dreads have been particularly trying.  They don't seem to be locking up as fast as I'd like.  They don't look nice, they're frizzy and static-y and most days I put them under a scarf just to feel like a human under this mop.  I don't really know what I'm doing with them, I don't know how to "maintain" them.  I don't know what they're supposed to be looking like as they mature.  And I begin to wonder if I've jumped into the deep end without a life preserver...typical me.

So I talked to Rob on the phone this morning and he says, "Aw, I know exactly where you're at, and I know exactly what you need.  Come see me and we'll talk, I'll give you the tricks of the trade, and you pay me whatever you can manage after I've worked on your dreads and got you set up."  A window opens!  Light pours in!  I want to cry and sob to Rob, "Make me pretty!!"  And I want to sob to Derek, "Think I'm pretty!!"  And I'm so tired I could literally lay down and cry, because I'm sad and life is hard, and people I love have died, and I want grief to resolve itself, and I want my head to be pretty again. 

Visit With my Parents and other miscellaneous summer things

My dreadlocks are three months old today.  I accidentally took this photo of myself last week during a photo shoot while I was setting up the lights.  I almost deleted it and then I realized it was a wonderful shot of my dreads in pigtails!  Somebody told me that dreads are an exercise in acceptance.  That having dreads you have to accept what they are from day to day: frizzy, curly, wild, flat.  And that learning that acceptance is good for your ego, good for your soul.  Someone else said that dreads are a mad scientist's experiment in patience.  I have discovered all of this to be true, and will soon do a post about why I have dreads, and what it's been like these last three months.

My Dad helped me set up my lights, and even built me a lovely backdrop.  It's handy having Stan the man for your Dad.

Sometimes he's a superhero.

Sometimes he's two years old.

Loved by two-year-olds.

This blog post looks like it's about my Dad.  It's not really.  Although he's great, and I have a ton of fun photos of him, this post is supposed to be about Mom AND Dad, and all the fun stuff we've done while they've been here.  All the fun stuff mostly consists of hiding under blankets and jumping out and saying "Peek!" to the little guy.  But still...

Finally one of Mom!  She's a handsome woman, isn't she? :)

Mom took Luke to all his swim lessons last week.

Last year Luke complained, but this year he really looked forward to his lessons.

And at the end of two weeks hard work, he earned his Level 1 badge!!