A sixteen-year-old student in our community died in a car accident this morning.

It seems like every year a high school student in every community is killed; taken from us. It’s a gamble, this parenting bit. When we have children we take the chance that they’ll be with us for the rest of our lives. It doesn’t always work out that way. When they’re newborns and we bring them home from the hospital we celebrate the first week they’re with us and we manage to keep them alive. Six months pass and we stare at our babies with wonder. Well, we think, we must be doing something right because here he still is. If we’re lucky, we have cake and presents to commemorate a first birthday. We silently pat ourselves on the back. A whole year! And we haven’t managed to do anything stupid enough to take this child from us, nor has the hand of God swept down to take him away.

We grow more relaxed after that, until they give us heart attack after heart attack as spirited toddlers, darting out in parking lots, falling off everything they climb, disappearing around the corner in a store where we’re sure they’ll be snatched away by a Bad Man. But with more luck, and perhaps a guardian angel or two, they enter school and suffer all kinds of germy maladies. They survive, and we do, too.

When they finish middle school, we again pat ourselves on the back for having survived them and they us, and the angst and clique-ridden atmosphere that has the ability to turn anyone into a catatonic mess. We rejoice; our children have made it to, in the fall, enter high school and what may be the most dangerous years of their lives.

Motor vehicle crashes are the number one cause of death in kids aged 15-20. We raise them, we protect them, we teach them to be careful and then, how to be independent. We have to. At some point we have to let go; let them drive away without us and, what do we do? We hope for the best. There comes a point where we realize it’s not all under our control. Accidents happen. We can’t protect them 100 percent of the time, even if we never let them out of our sight. If we’re lucky, they come back time after time. If we’re lucky, they never get in an accident. If we are the parents who will not outlive their children, we will make it through high school and college with kids who are unscathed.

I keep thinking of the parents of the student who died this morning. Who can even imagine that kind of pain? It happens too often.

I have come to a crossroads with my hair. If I continue down one path, there are two diverging roads. On one, I can spend at least $100 a month at a salon where my color will be efficiently and beautifully managed. I’ll never show a bit of gray hair although roots will show and I must be on top of the maintenance schedule. This option is not that appealing to  me. That’s a lot of money over a year’s time. Also, I hate scheduling appointments and spending that kind of time in a salon.

The second road down this path is, of course to color my hair myself. This is much less expensive. I, however, am far from a professional colorist. When I’ve done my hair myself I miss whole sections or the color comes out not exactly the shade I’d hoped. I’ve ranged from chocolate to auburn to a punky maroon. It’s really tough to match plain old brown and not have it look fake or overdyed. Colored hair, particularly for brunettes, looks so obvious to me.

Aside from the reluctance to maintain hair color, either on my own or with professional help, I wonder about the effect of coloring one’s hair. Is it really good for me to have all those chemicals on my head? What about the environment? Is it “green” to color one’s hair? Probably not.

My husband is very anti-hair color. He would actually prefer it if I just let it go. He’s graying at a rate slightly faster than I am, and it looks good on him — of course. Gray hair always looks good on men. I said that I think when people see a (younger) woman with gray hair they think she doesn’t take enough of an interest in her appearance. But I’m not sure that’s true. In the last few weeks I’ve noticed plenty of my friends my age or thereabouts who aren’t coloring their hair. It looks fine — good, even. Normal.

I mean, as a friend from grade school recently pointed out, we’re almost forty. Who are we kidding, here?

So I’m seriously considering it. So much in fact it’s been months since I’ve covered my gray. I don’t have much — just a string of holiday lights along my part and a few at my temples. In the right light, it looks silvery, and I’m hoping, in the sun, like highlights. Maybe I’ll be lucky and have that lovely silvery hair that some older women have, rather than dull, colorless locks.

My guess is it will take ten years or more before I’m completely gray. Maybe even closer to 20. Although, in the next ten years the girl will go through all of what teenagerhood holds. She may well turn my hair white overnight.

Are you going gray? Where do you stand on the hair coloring issue? I used to think I’d color till I was dead, never for a minute revealing my true color. Now though, I think I’ll just let it go, and see what happens. If I start being mistaken for a much older woman, then I can always start coloring again.

Today is a big day. It is not only the day of Foxfield and the Dogwood Parade, but tonight is PROM! No, I’m not going, the boy is. Somehow, the boy negotiated only $2.50 to pay the girl to wash his car. I enjoyed the negotiation, particularly now that I know I can get away with paying her $2.50 to do mine.

(Large thunderclap interrupts this post. Oh no! I hope the rain either holds off or passes so we can take prom pictures in our blooming front yard.)

The girl has been a good helper today. We got her hair trimmed first thing this morning and watched a woman getting her hair done for her wedding. We then grocery shopped, and baked a banana cake together. We are stocked up on bananas, not because we are cool and belong to a CSA and got a huge load of bananas this week. No. We were just poor planners and bought some at the store and then a 3lb. bunch at Sam’s. We’ll frost it with chocolate butter frosting when it cools.

Tonight, while the prom goes down at the JPJ, we’ll grill some steaks and corn on the cob, relax and maybe watch a movie.

The weather (except for the ominous thunderclap) is beautiful. Darn near perfect. Mark’s been doing all kinds of outdoor work, putting in paving stones, planting grass seed and an herb garden. I’m taking a break and will, in a moment, do piles and piles of laundry. I will never get over my love for weekends.

It’s a good day.

Where is your cell phone? In my purse.

Your significant other? Kayaking on the Rivanna.

Your hair? On my head. Needs a trim.

Your mother? Springfield, Ill.

Your father? Springfield, Ill. unless he’s on a work-related road trip.

Your favorite thing? My Kitchenaid mixer.

Your dream last night? I had a big check in my wallet that I’d forgotten to cash. Sadly, untrue.

Your favorite drink? Mudhouse Mocha or Earl Grey Creme tea from Teavana

Your dream/goal? Having the time and focus to write, finish and publish a book.

The room you’re in?  Livingroom.

Your ex? Married since I was 18.