Esthynerd

I knew I liked esthetics. I realized how much today when I heard myself interrupting my own conversation to ask-"Ooh, is that a book on rosacea?"

After resisting the temptation of the beer/wine aisle and avoiding the imported cheeses entirely, I was undone.  

Incidentally, once my resolve weakened, I re-visited the beer... 

Nap Blog

I should be vacuuming the dog hair off the rug.  The babe is in constant motion and is no longer contained within simple boundaries. She is fast, too.  Last night, I laid her at the foot of the bed. I blinked. She was suddenly and soundlessly at the head of the bed. She is trying to shimmy under the sofa when we aren't looking which means I finally have to battle the dust bunnies. 

A. has defended our borders well but now it is time to attack.

Spring

Babe,

I have been reflecting back to October and to how difficult all of this was in the beginning. We brought you home from the hospital on a cold, rainy night that epitomized our first weeks. The sky was always dark.  There were storms.  It was windy and cold.  We were all prisoners in this tiny house.  I lost a lot of blood during your birth and was still very weak.  My world shrunk into restless midnights in our dark bedroom.  Then, it shrunk further, into the stormy microclimate between you, your father, and me.  I retreated still, until I was living with only you inside the dark circle of my arms where I studied the furrows of your little countenance like a scientist. Sometimes I felt like those autumn clouds were hiding in my eyebrows.  I felt those cold showers in my brain. It was like the weather sympathized with us. 

 

Your heartbeat was always reaching out to me. I saw its power in the eyes of your midwives.  I heard the surprise of its strength in their laughter.  You have always been strong.  Those stethoscopes were foghorns predicting safety after the storm.   It was a beacon.  If I were wiser I could have rested in its promise.

 

I can talk about those cloudy days now because it is Spring.  I feel the importance of those learning times like the cycle of the seasons.  You are blossoming like the pretty pink bushes outside. Your father and I are blossoming, too.  We are being fed with the sunshine you beam into our lives.  Your innate fortitude is leading the way and your unconditional love is filling our hearts with warmth. We are becoming better people because of you.  Your growth is mirroring the Earth’s celestial path around its own sun and our world revolves around you.  

Las Vegas, It's a wild ride

A. returned from his Vegas conference bearing gifts.  A rad postcard for my collection and...

The world's best souvenir mug!

"I thought you would like it," he said. "It's the gayest one they had."

Wednesday Waxing

The only part they got right was the wooden spoon.

NKOTB reunion

For the first time in months, I favored the Today show over Noggin where it was announced this morning that New Kids on the Block are reuniting.  They all still look cute.  I don't know if my mom-vision has prejudiced my eyes.  I recently realized that my leading-man crushes have crept up the time line.  I find George Clooney wicked sexy where I was once like '...skip the old guy and show me Matt Damon!'  I never noticed how dreamy a well-worked tuxedo could be.

I hate reunion shows.   The main deterrent isn't the hell I would get from my friends or the fact that I would probably have to go alone. I don't want to look around me and see myself in the wistful, reminiscing eyes of the other women my age nor do I want to see the people who might show up seeking some irony or kitsch in something I used to love. I once worked with a girl who was 7 or 8 years younger than me.  She would wear an old New Kids t-shirt that she probably found at a thrift store.  It was the same shirt I used to have in high school.  Suffice to say, I didn't find it clever.   

[Side Note: When exactly did the t-shirt trend switch from ironic wit to elitist disdain? I remember when people would only wear band t-shirts to support a group they liked.] 

Perhaps, my memories are too dear to challenge with a revival.  

My very first concert was the New Kids (No More Games). The fever hit me late. When Hangin' Tough dropped, I was a huge metalhead. My sister and I would make fun of the girls who liked New Kids.  But then, I don't know what happened...it was my sophomore year at a new school...my best friend was dying her hair magenta and trying to turn me on to The Cure...and I was taping NKOTB on Oprah.  My friends thought I had microwaved my brain.  

I have enduring love for the unabashed predictability and the cotton candy harmonies of the boy band. The incomparable Jackson 5 was a boy band.  New Edition was a boy band.  The Maurice Starr oeuvre of new editions and kids was followed by the managerial touch of the even sleazier Lou Pearlman.  Funnier even than this quote,  "I got involved with Chippendales before Backstreet and it's Chippendales and New Kids on the Block that gave me the idea to pursue Backstreet.", is the fact that he created a band and then created their own competition! (Backstreet Boy and then N'Sync).  God, there is a lifetime of scandal, innuendo and synchronized dance moves in the boy band niche!   It's yummier than a waxed pec! 

Blockheads may be the new Fanilows... ( http://newsroom.mtv.com/2008/04/03/dear-new-kids-on-the-block-fans-aka-blockheads/ ) ...we shall see if Vegas has a permanent stage for them to hurl their panties.  Until then, and unless Tiffany is opening for them again, my memories of the New Kids are good enough for me.  Probably.

Time to shine

I start taking appointments for facials and limited waxing on Monday.  I'm excited that I'll be liberated from my home for two working days. I am also glad to finally be using all this knowledge and skill to make people smooth. I am still really nervous.  No one expects me to be perfect right out of the starting gate.  Most of the pressure is coming from myself.  I just want to do a good job and I'm really not ready to be thrust back into a service industry.  In any service industry, every mistake you make is a reason to call a manager.  And in this occupation, every single hair remaining on a waxed leg is a big mistake.  One single hair could damage my reputation.  Think about that.

Last night, the babe slept in her crib from 9something to 5:30 this morning.  I couldn't sleep at all.  I checked her breathing every couple hours.  I really missed her.  I'm glad she is ready for this important step.  I'll try to match my newborn's courage and leap into the unknown with grace.