Karen writes at her blog, Time Crafted, and her tagline is this: Time Crafted (verb): The act of altering personal time to include creativity, joy & smile worthy moments in our daily lives.

Isn’t that just…The BEST? Karen is using owning the word CREATE for her theme of 2013, and she is a great addition to the iPPP link up when she joins us.

Karen is a lovely, friendly face in the online crowd and I’m so happy to have “met” her. Thanks for being here!

A few people might have said I was crazy or insane, but most spit the word brave in my direction.

Truthfully, I was simply, maddeningly desperate.

I was out of nearly out of options.  And since said desperation was a freight train speeding me towards the nearest cliff, I chose the “option” that seemed to be the least radical.

Why was I so desperate?  My hair.  Yes, my hair.

My curly, über thick hair had grown crazy long, down to my waist, and was in dire need of a several inch trim due to split ends multiplying faster than spring time rabbits.

I couldn’t get an appointment at my usual spot for a haircut.  And I’d already run into several obstacles attempting to take far less drastic options, like simply trying some place new.

Getting out of the shower one evening, I realized I was out of time and options.  I was standing on the edge of that cliff, on tip toe.

I was minutes from retrieving the clippers in the closet and shaving all of my locks off.  Not being dramatic in the least here.  I was ready to get rid of every. single. strand.

So, I did the only thing that made any sense at all in that state of mind.

Walking out of the bathroom, I grabbed small black handled scissors, turned into the living room and handed them to my husband.

His eyes popped wide.  He mouthed, “What?!”

“Either you cut it now or I’m shaving it all off.”

Unsure himself, he kept asking me if I was sure.  When I told him of the shaved head option, he asked much he should cut off.

Reaching behind me, I drew a line with my finger across the middle of my back, indicating where I wanted it cut to.  Worst case scenario?  The haircut would be uneven and I could just tie it up until I could get in somewhere, but it wouldn’t be so raggedy.  At least, that’s what I thought I could do.

He went to work.  Snip.  Snip.  Snip.  That’s all I heard as he concentrated.

I could feel my hair getting shorter.  Snip.  Snip.  Snip.  His hands and my hair rose up above my shoulders.  I worked hard to keep the alarm off my face.

And then he was done.

“Thanks!” I smiled an exaggerated smile and asked, “Um…so you prefer shorter hair?” Knowing full well that’s not the case, it seemed a polite way to ask him, what the heck happened to cutting it to the middle of my back?!  I expected the cut to not be the greatest, but I definitely didn’t expect this.

He hesitated, “Yeah.  Um.  Well, I wanted to make sure it was even, but your curls just kept springing up and so I had to cut higher…and higher…and well…it’s totally even now!”

Yes, it was even.  It was also cut to just below my chin.  Thick, curly, all one layer hair gets big once dry.  Really big.

I smiled.  A lot.  And said thank you, many times.

I was the one who handed him the scissors.  I was the one who asked him to cut it.  And I was the one who was on the verge of sporting no hair.  So, big hair wasn’t as bad as it could have been.  Right?

But, almost everyone’s response was the same.

“You handed your husband scissors?  You asked him to cut it?  You’re brave.”

No, I was desperate.

You can find Karen at her blog and her Twitter page.