New Year's Eve in a Restaurant? Pshaw, I'll Take My Filet in a Hospital

My favorite New Year's Eve meal was in 1996.

December 31, 1996--when a plastic cafeteria tray of room temperature filet mignon was placed on my lap, while I lay propped up against crunchy pillows, bare breasted, in a fetching grey checked hospital gown, celebrating New Year's Eve just hours after giving birth to a beautiful 8 lb. 10 oz. baby boy.

I've had three children, and I've had no more thrilling surprise in my life than finally seeing what your child looks like after waiting nine months. The ultrasounds hint at features, but the 3D real life presentation of their little faces has always left me without any flowery speech, and reduced me to the most basic of sentiments. When the nurses first showed me Xavier, I could only trace his tiny little mouth with my finger, and eke out, "you look just like your dad."

Happy Birthday, Xavier--you were my best New Year's ever. Your dad wanted to high five you for just squeaking in as a tax deduction for the year; I breathed a sigh of relief that after 5 1/2 months of bed rest we had made it--I was ecstatic to finally hold you.

No meal has since come close, no restaurant atmosphere has even touched on the magic of that New Year's Eve, 16 years ago today, when I first saw you.

Xavier, one minute old. (you can't see his tiny little mouth)

Happy Birthday, wonderful son. I love you very, very much, you awesome kid.

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Elves and Flat Irons

We went to see The Hobbit Saturday night. Dwarves, elves, orcs, trolls, wizards, and Oh, those elves. Those Elven lovelies, tall and fair of face and form, with their silky straight yet still flowy locks. In the movie, there is searing hatred of the elves by the dwarves. The dwarves say they hate the elves because they ran out on them during a crucial history-altering battle for middle earth, BUT I think the real reason is their long and silky locks. I mean, what's not to hate about hair that swings every which way you move your head while the dwarves look like they need a gallon of heat treatment VO-5 dumped on their heads and then saran-wrapped for a week.

The movie opens with a scene of a painfully handsome silver-haired Elven king, sitting atop a glorious steed, nodding his head 'no' to his army behind him, to no longer continue battle in aid to the dwarves. In excruciatingly beautiful slow motion, we see the exquisite perfect profile of the bare-back riding Elf leader, tossing his silk tresses in the direction away from the front line. Never has abandonment looked so gorgeous. That hair, that nose!

The elves, flawless with complexions like that of luminous pearls, sparklingly clear eyed, short nosed and breath taking--riding away from the stocky dwarves who are as short as they are wide that they looked like boxes. The dwarves with their springy brillo pad hair that sprouts from all over their heads and faces, and the noses--oh the hooked end noses that would need three rhinoplasties to cure. How the dwarves could drink out of a glass without drowning is a wonder to me.

Yes, the dwarves are jealous of the universe's unfair doling out of attractiveness components entirely to the elves. All those elves, with their top to bottom gloriousness, looking as if the sun itself had birthed them. The elves, with their  favorite hair do: the half pony. The loosely pulled held hair only from the ears up, while the rest of their tresses lazily cascade across their shoulders like a weeping willow in a Savannah wind.

It's this favorite Elven hair do, along with my flat iron, that has reduced my hair do choices by 50 percent. After waking up the next morning apres The Hobbit viewing, I readied myself for a day of good deep down house cleaning. I combed my thick, coarse hair, planning to take a shower later, and ran a flat iron through it to smooth out the nighttime kinks. Not wanting to look like J Lo with a hoisted fully pony for the third time that week, I reached for the mini brown coated rubber band rather than the heavy duty large gauge band. Giving myself a loose half pony, I pulled my straightened hair through, looked up in the mirror and what do I see?

Source

I had become an Elven king.

I can't do it--the half pony is no longer a possibility; there is no way that I can seriously walk around this planet and not feel like I should make myself a crown of icy frosted winter bared twigs and stick it on my head.

The flat iron, and The Hobbit, have done me in. I can't unsee The Hobbit, and if I can no longer wield a flat iron to my Colombian hair, not only will I be walking a mile in elf-hating dwarf treebark shoes, but I'll be waiting in line to douse myself with a Costco sized Breck Beautiful oil drum of conditioner, too. 

At least the rhinoplasty was paid for in '85.

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Jobs are Good

Jobs are good. If you have one, you're lucky.

I love mine. Let's get ready to start the New Year right, with some tips for getting your boss to like you, really like you, and keep you around a while longer.

Brought to you by Aiming Low, my post today--keeping that job you have, by finding out "What Your Boss Wants From You."

Here's to a peaceful, happy, employed New Year.

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When It's Not Norman Rockwell

The holidays are loaded.

Loaded in so many ways--with the television and radio commercials telling us how this season "should be." There are ads, newspaper and magazine lay outs with their covers displaying sparkling tables full of impeccably prepared food, equally perfect homes, and beautifully appointed families with matching sets of parents and children.

I remember seeing all these holiday depictions as a child, and thinking that was the normal. It had to be, right? That's the scene that's on every Hallmark commercial, on every cover of Ladies' Home Journal. That is how people live, that is what doing the holidays right means. Being that perfect family means being happy.

Anything other than that, less than that--and you were the one who missed the mark.

We see the glossy photos from the magazine racks and hear the holiday music piped in when we're in any store--the pictures and lyrics reminding us of how we don't do it the way it's supposed to be done are impossible to escape. We either nearly kill ourselves with exhaustion stringing the home made popcorn garland and creating what we're told is the "normal" holiday season, or we tearfully give up and feel like failures--letting ourselves down, and guiltily coming up short on making perfect holiday memories for our families. We're supposed to get along with everyone, be close with each relative--we're never to feel anxious, overwhelmed, depressed, deprived, disappointed, or in discord. Or lonely.

How many of us had the Normal Rockwell painting going on at our homes this week?

How many of us, sadly, because of the tragedy at Sandy Hook, have been thrown full face and snapped awake into recognizing the bountifulness of what we do have? I did not get to all of my Christmas shopping, I was only able to vacuum and dust my house and never did get to the deep cleaning like I wanted to. I had planned to lift my spirits with something red to wear this Christmas--but never made it to the store. I wore a brown turtleneck and a green skirt instead. The cookies never did get made, the Christmas cards weren't sent out until the 22nd, and we had to use watery brown and green too thin paper to wrap presents because the store had long ago run out of bright and beautiful gift wrap. I waited too long to go grocery shopping, too--so the duck my oldest son had asked for as the Christmas meal was another thing I screwed up on.   

Instead, we had a roasted chicken on the table, we didn't get to all the gifts the kids had hoped for under the tree, and I wore an outfit more suited for a day at work than Christmas Eve. My father passed away when I was a child, and my widowed mother was here with us. Though unable to help because of her dementia, she celebrated along with us, clapping her hands with every ornament she watched my children hang on the tree. Our 17-year-old son--my first baby--is with us just one more year before he leaves to start his own life. He sat at the piano I haven't gotten around to getting tuned, and thrilled his grandmother by playing her songs he had taught himself. Our scuffed kitchen table that needs to be re-varnished didn't have a single inch of space left on it that wasn't filled with food.   

We've never had Norman Rockwell. Our Christmas table set with turquoise stoneware, mismatched serving bowls, and the far from perfect people around it that I love beyond words, will never make the cover of Martha Stewart. But on this Christmas night, 2012, I don't think there was a woman on this planet who felt luckier with what she had, than I did.

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I wish you all a very Merry Christmas, a Happy Holiday season, and peace, joy, love to you and yours.
 

Happy Hohoho To You!

This is Auggie. My blogging name is Baby E, but my real name is Auggie.

I want to say Merry Christmas to everyone.

Especially for the people who have presents, you should say "Thank You" that you have presents. And for people who don't have presents, you have to sometimes look hard but you can find presents. They might not always be like material presents: they can be mental or emotional presents.

I just want to thank everyone for being supportive of me and my mom and all the other bloggers who make me want to do posting all the time.

My favorite Christmas songs are the ones I like. Like Happy Hohoho To you, Rockin' 'round the Christmas Tree It's a Happy Holiday, Feliz Navidad y Prospero Ano y Felizidad I Wanna Wish You a Merry Christmas From the Bottom of My Heart, Giddyup Giddyup Giddgyup Let's Go We're Riding in a Winter Wonderland of Snow.

I really don't like Gramma Got Ran Over by a Reindeer, and also I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus Last Night. I don't like them because the premise is not Christmassy.

I'm glad to say I know you and will continue to know you.

I might see you on Saturdays. I don't know. I have soccer and basketball now. I might have games. I'll try to post but I don't know.

I finished my LEGO Advent calendar. My favorite piece was Santa riding his Zamboni.

What else I want to say is sometimes on Christmas I lay down near by the tree and look up at the ceiling and think about all the lucky and encouraging things I have like my family, my nice friends, good food, and nice teammates.

I just want to say Merry Christmas and be nice and don't hurt people even when your mind says to be mean back, it wouldn't be very nice. If you feel like that, think of good memories and don't give yourself bad memories by being mean.

Bye.

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