Snarky in the Suburbs: Beach wavy? That hair-do is more like a hair-don’t

The way I see it there are only two weeks left of summer.

I don’t care what the calendar says. In my world, when the kids go back to school the season of sun and fun is over. Based on this data, I have created my own Late Summer Bucket List.

First up is attempting to understand something called “beach wavy” hair. I was at an event recently and I overheard (or eavesdropped — really, is there a difference?) a group of women talking very enthusiastically and the words “beach wavy” kept coming up in their conversation. This got me excited because I assumed all this joy was over some sort of signature summer cocktail that had been created for the party. I, of course, got closer to the group so I could inquire where I could get a “beach wavy.”

Ugh. It turned out they were talking about a hairstyle, not a vodka-based beverage with an emphasis on tropical fruits. This confused me in many ways, because whose hair gets wavy at the beach? Your hair primarily gets destroyed.

There’s the sand dandruff that will plague your scalp for days after you’ve left the ocean. And as for beach waves in your hair: Were they talking about how saltwater combined with other aquatic excretions acts as nature’s Krazy Glue, adhering your follicles together so robustly that your beach “do” resembles a Malibu Medusa?

I’ve had this beach hairstyle before and trust me it’s not user-friendly. (One time I broke a comb and a hairbrush trying to untangle my mane.)

If you ask me, beach wavy would make a much better drink than a hair-do.

Next, I want to learn how to carve a watermelon into an amphibious reptile. I saw a watermelon frog on a cover of a magazine last week and it was awe-inspiring. Forget about Donatello’s David. The ability, nay, the gift, of being to able to sculpt a humble melon into a work of art is what I call talent.

Sure we’ve all seen someone come sashaying into a party with a watermelon carved into a basket and acting like they’re Martha Stewart’s long-lost muse. Now, imagine walking into a soiree with not just a watermelon frog, but a watermelon frog sticking its tongue out. Say hello to you being beyond fabulous.

The most important thing on my list is to have a “Chambray Moment.” By this I mean I want one of those outdoorsy summer pictures where your family is all dressed in some sort of linen or denim top looking all coastal living beautiful. Bonus if the wind is blowing in just the right direction to gently fluff everyone’s hair. Note I didn’t say “beach wavy” because I don’t want a hot mess hair selfie.

To be honest I kind of want the picture solely for social media purposes. It would be my way of combating a newsfeed filled with photos of families allegedly living the dream and using the hashtag “blessed” as a way to justify their nonstop assault of bragging.

Every time I see this I laugh a little. I don’t think the concept of being “blessed” was ever meant to be used for sharing 1,200 photos of your family’s Disney Cruise.

Now back to Operation Chambray. You would think this would be easy to achieve. All you need to do is buy a couple of tops for your brood with Kohl’s cash (Tip: go for more of a periwinkle chambray color than a denim to ensure your loved ones don’t look like they’re styling Ralph Lauren-inspired prison wear), find a lush location to take the picture and smile.

Unfortunately for me, my family is not cooperating. No one wants to go chambray for me. My son even told me we aren’t a “chambray family.”

I quickly replied that he couldn’t be more wrong. Our family, I proudly shared was, “cham wow!”

That might have been the wrong retort because he started laughing and pointed out that ShamWow was a cleaning rag. “Yeah mom, we’re that kind of ShamWow, for sure.”

That’s when I had to spell out that I meant cham wow not, you know, ShamWow. Idiot.

My daughter, curse her, continued the anti-cham wow narrative. “Mom, you want to buy our clothes with Kohl’s cash. Seriously, how not cham wow can you get?”

I couldn’t even cajole my husband to concede to a chambray moment and he agreed with my son that we weren’t a cham wow family. “Well, then what kind of family are we?” I asked.

Instead of answering that loaded question he offered up a suggestion that I cham wow our dogs. I know he was kidding, but I will not be denied my chambray moment. So, I’ve ordered outfits for my pets.

Yep, let’s see how my husband feels seeing his beagle in an adorable chambray smocked top with a jaunty sailor hat. I can’t wait to post that all over social media. #blessed

This story was originally published July 28, 2015 at 6:22 PM with the headline "Snarky in the Suburbs: Beach wavy? That hair-do is more like a hair-don’t."