Mom's Twelve Days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas,
my mother said to me
Don’t eat all the sugar cookies.

On the second day of Christmas,
my mother said to me
You still have chores,
And don’t eat all the sugar cookies.

On the third day of Christmas,
my mother said to me
Don’t pinch him,
You still have chores,
And don’t eat all the sugar cookies.

On the fourth day of Christmas,
my mother said to me
Gum drops aren’t Legos,
Don’t pinch him,
You still have chores,
And don’t eat all the sugar cookies.

On the fifth day of Christmas,
my mother said to me
Try thinking of others,
Gum drops aren’t Legos,
Don’t pinch him,
You still have chores,
And don’t eat all the sugar cookies.


On the sixth day of Christmas,
my mother said to me
The dog is not a reindeer,
Try thinking of others,
Gum drops aren’t Legos,
Don’t pinch him,
You still have chores,
And don’t eat all the sugar cookies.

On the seventh day of Christmas,
my mother said to me
Wear a clean shirt for pictures,
The dog is not a reindeer,
Try thinking of others,
Gum drops aren’t Legos,
Don’t pinch him,
You still have chores,
And don’t eat all the sugar cookies.

On the eighth day of Christmas,
my mother said to me
Find me some earplugs,
Wear a clean shirt for pictures,
The dog is not a reindeer,
Try thinking of others,
Gum drops aren’t Legos,
Don’t pinch him,
You still have chores,
And don’t eat all the sugar cookies.

On the ninth day of Christmas,
my mother said to me
Santa’s never coming,
Find me some earplugs,
Wear a clean shirt for pictures,
The dog is not a reindeer,
Try thinking of others,
Gum drops aren’t Legos,
Don’t pinch him,
You still have chores,
And don’t eat all the sugar cookies.

On the tenth day of Christmas,
my mother said to me
I’m calling Grandma,
Santa’s never coming,
Find me some earplugs,
Wear a clean shirt for pictures,
The dog is not a reindeer,
Try thinking of others,
Gum drops aren’t Legos,
Don’t pinch him,
You still have chores,
And don’t eat all the sugar cookies.

On the eleventh day of Christmas,
my mother said to me
Fudge is not for finger-painting
I’m calling Grandma,
Santa’s never coming,
Find me some earplugs,
Wear a clean shirt for pictures,
The dog is not a reindeer,
Try thinking of others,
Gum drops aren’t Legos,
Don’t pinch him,
You still have chores,
And don’t eat all the sugar cookies.

On the twelfth day of Christmas,
my mother said to me
Surely school is coming,
Fudge is not for finger-painting
I’m calling Grandma,
Santa’s never coming,
Find me some earplugs,
Wear a clean shirt for pictures,
The dog is not a reindeer,
Try thinking of others,
Gum drops aren’t Legos,
Don’t pinch him,
You still have chores,
And don’t eat all the sugar cookies.



Merry Christmas to all you frazzled moms out there!

Crouching Caterpillar, Hidden Unibrow

Last week, on a whim, I got my eyebrows waxed. As you might’ve guessed, I’ve never gone under the wax before. Somehow I grew up blissfully unaware of my own forehead fleece. I’m not sure when I realized my brows were denser than the rainforest. I think it slowly dawned on me, not unlike my need for a training bra in fifth grade.

A couple friends have invited me along to their regular brow waxing appointments. Not like, “You get eyebrows waxed, me give you banana,” but in a friendly, non gorilla-hating way.

So, I figured, what the heck?

But I wanted to experience my first de-browing alone. I mean, it is sorta personal, right?

I went to the salon where mom and I get our pedicures. When I walked in without her, they assumed I was there to buy a gift certificate. When I boldly stated, “I want a manicure and brow wax,” Vivian beamed her approval. I like Vivian. She always adds cool water to the pedicure basin because she knows I’m a wimp and can’t take the hot stuff. And she’s not overly enthusiastic with the heel file. In short, she doesn’t make beauty hurt.

Unfortunately, Vivian doesn’t do the waxing.

But I didn’t know that, so I relaxed while she gave me a gel manicure. I admit, her drawn-on purple eyebrows gave me pause. Would I have to draw my own brows back on when she was done with me? Surely sweet Vivian wouldn’t be that extreme.

When Vivian finished with my nails, she sent me to a closet room in the back and went on to her next client. That’s when I got a little nervous. The woman in the wax room didn’t offer her name, but pointed to a blanket-covered cot with a pillow for my head.

I tried to subtly scope out her brows while I got situated. What I saw didn’t put my mind at ease. Did this woman understand I just wanted a trim? Or would I leave the salon pink, shiny, and permanently surprised?

I tried to explain. I told her I was used to having heavy brows. I almost ran. But then it was too late.

The first strip wasn’t even as bad as pulling off a band-aid. No sweat, I thought. By the third I was wincing. But it didn’t take long. Pretty soon she gooped the space between my brows, smoothed the paper on, and worked her magic.

I prepared to leave, confident I at least had some remaining hair. That’s when the tweezers came out. She yanked away at my newly-waxed skin and actually started talking to me.

“You beautiful.”

The way she said it made it sound like I was due to be sacrificed to a volcano any minute. I was confused but responded with a “thank-you.”

She pursed her lips, plucked, shook her head and again said in a tragic voice, “You beautiful.”

I half-expected her to add, “too bad you’ll turn back into a Yeti when you leave here.”

Again I mumbled my thanks.

Finally it seemed like she was wrapping up with the torture. She sighed and held up two fingers. “You come back. Two weeks! You come back. You beautiful. Go see.”

She directed me to the mirror, and I peered in to discover she had indeed left a few of my dark brows—and a lot of pink skin.

“See. You like. Not so messy. You come back. Two weeks!”

I promised to return for more pain and beat it out of the room. I’m still not used to the new me. For one thing, my street cred with the native Sasquatches took a huge hit. And I keep getting carried away with the eye shadow. And then there are the bumps. An uncooked Christmas turkey’s got nothing on me in the dimple department.

Yeah, I know, you want a picture. All I have is this one of me trying to figure out how to use the camera on Persephone. You can’t see my eyebrows, but I think my confused expression says it all.


Does every new iPhone owner have similar picture? I’m just curious.

But I do have something almost as wooly as my pre-waxed eyebrows to share with you. Yes, these guys have way too much time on their hands, but their dogs are awesome!

Intelligent Women with Interesting Names

We'll get to those smart ladies in a minute. There's always a lead-up, you know?

Poor Monkey got hit with a whammy this weekend. He is still recovering from an awful case of stomach flu. We went to Urgent Care on Sunday when he couldn’t keep anything down and couldn’t stop crying. At first they told us to prepare for a trip to the hospital in case it was appendicitis, but thankfully it turned out to be a virus. They gave him a magic dissolves-on-contact pill that not only allowed him to keep those vital liquids down, but also made him inexplicably chatty. He went from a moaning lump under a blanket to a pale but animated boy, detailing the war between medicine and sickness going on in his body. Kory and I laughed and cringed at his added sound effects, especially the explosions.

During all of this, my phone died. I mean really died. For the last time. Kory tried to resuscitate it, but this time there was no Lazarus moment for the old Blackberry.

We’ve both had our Blackberry Storms for a few years now and have talked about upgrading, but we tend to put off those expenditures until they’re absolutely necessary. Yes, until no amount of prayer, techno wizardry, or duct tape will do the trick.

I’m not sure why this is the case because Kory loves gadgets. But, you see, I also love boots, and it could be that my boot budget is stomping the gadget budget. Gadget budget. That’s fun to say. Go, go Gadget Budget!

Ahem.

Knowing his wife could not go long without a phone—and, more importantly, knowing she’d be late to or forget every appointment without one—Kory started shopping for a new mobile right away. He sent me a few links and asked my opinion. When he couldn’t get more out of me than, “The iPhone is pretty,” he took matters into his own hands.

I walked through the office on the way to the bathroom, and he gave me a look that either meant, “Don’t go in there” or “I’ve done something out of character.” Naturally, I froze and lifted one eyebrow.

“I bought us new phones.”

I said, “Oh, you got one, too? Did you get the really fancy one you were talking about?”

“I got us both iPhones. Yes, I got you the white one.”

Squeal!

I can’t wait to interact with my intelligent assistant, Siri, who comes with the new iPhone. I’m hoping she’ll be something like Siri Mitchell, one of my favorite authors. The next time I get stuck on a plot point in a novel, I’ll just ask Siri for help. I can’t lose! Siri and I are gonna write some awesome stuff. Well, the real Siri Mitchell already rights awesome stuff, but her namesake and I, we’re gonna make waves.

Despite the whole virtual assistant thing, I thought naming my new iPhone Siri was a little on the nose. Since it’s white and sparkly, I briefly toyed with naming it Edward, but then I decided to act my age.


All the snow/ice/winter names went through my head, especially since we’ve just had a cold snap. But then I hit on the perfect name. I’m calling my new phone Persephone, after the albino heroine in Leanna Renee Hieber's Strangely Beautiful series. Isn’t that perfect?

If, right now, you’re scratching your head and wondering who in their right mind names their iPhone Persephone, then clearly you’re reading the wrong blog.

Come on, I know I’m not the only one who names my phone, my van, my credit card debt. What’s the strangest thing you’ve named? And no, this is not the forum for divulging nicknamed body parts. Yes, we all do it, but my mother reads this blog, so we’re gonna pretend we don’t. Deal?