Transcendental Meditation in a Salon

Don't worry... this won't be scandalous like the last time I had the urge to write a post in the salon. (you can read that HERE)

I had a two-part revelation yesterday as I sat in the salon, hair matted with dye and timer running:

All stages of a woman's life are represented right there in the salon.

AND:

At different ages, we want/need different things.

I know, this isn't ground-breaking. And maybe this revelation doesn't help me in anyway, but I think, perhaps, the shampoo girl could benefit from reading this.

I watched as the twenty-somethings were washed. They chatted about their lives/relationships/college/ jobs. Members of a common team (the young twenty-somethings), they shared and bonded over boyfriends, breakups, awful term papers and foil highlights.

I noticed that the "over 50" women, enjoyed chatting about their kids- grown or teenagers, their grandkids if they had them and their lives. They were busy with jobs, teens, extra-curriculars, kids in college and some of them, grandchildren. Again, the salon appeared to be a social experience they appeared to look forward to.

The "over 70" women, just loved to talk. About anything. They are a chatty lot. And an opinionated one. They are also pretty darned funny! It occurred to me that perhaps they live alone, or with their elderly husbands, and just long to get out of the house and have someone to talk with- even if it is a nineteen-year-old shampoo girl. They seem to enjoy that social connection and will strike up a conversation with anyone around them.

And then there's me- mother of (relatively) small children. My children are constantly talking, requiring/demanding things and attention from me. While, in my early twenties, I enjoyed the social aspect of the salon visit, it is now quiet that I crave. I enjoy catching up with my stylist and hearing about her life and updating her on my family. But, what I am really looking forward to is my thirty minutes in heaven- the place where everyone with color sits until they are done processing. I grab a magazine and read, uninterrupted. I read through my emails on my phone, actually catch up with my Words with Friends queue and sometimes read through my Kindle app on my phone. (because I am too scatterbrained when I leave the house to remember to bring the ACTUAL Kindle with me)

When my thirty minutes are up, I am called over to the sink to be washed. The shampoo girl and I exchange pleasantries, and that is where I want it to end. I want to lie my head back in the sink and enjoy the simple little pleasure of having someone wash my hair while I close my eyes and rest. Please don't talk to me. People are talking to and at me all day. When I wash my hair at home, I run a 90% chance that someone is going to either barge in with, "Sorry, Mommy, but I have to poop!" or a tale of how one child has been wronged by their sibling. Even when I remember to lock the door, I get banging on the door, shouting,miniature fingers wriggling under the door and various forms of, "Mommy! Noah won't let me....." and "Mommy! Zoe won't stop....".

Really- two to three minutes of silence while you wash my hair is all that I ask.

And I know that one day, my children won't be so needy and I will miss that about them. At that point, I will again crave the conversation of the random shampoo girl at the salon, but until then...

Take note of the social cues I am sending you. Notice the battle-weary lines and dark circles that encircle my eyes as well as the glazed over look in them. Observe the smears and stains on my shirt and pants from dirty little hands always touching me. And then, please, let me be.

Because one day, all too soon, I will be in the chair next to you eagerly wanting to tell you how my kids are grown and how much I miss having little ones around. But I will notice these things about you, and I promise- I will cast a knowing smile your way and lie back and have my hair washed in silence- so that you can enjoy it.