CSquaredPlus3

Christmas 2008 - The End

I'm certain everyone's tired of looking at, and reading about Christmas trees, cute kids and food.  This is the last from me.  Promise.

I posted a photo of our naked tree a few weeks ago.  It stayed naked for several days, and I really liked how it looked all undressed.  A couple of people [literally two] wanted to see it decorated.  Some of the ornaments are as old as I am, some are made by the kids, and some are from the grocery store "impulse buy" section near the gum, videos, and *warm french bread [*every day at 4:00!].

Other than having a tall ceiling, our family room isn't very big, so it was difficult to get a photograph of the tree in it's entirety.  Apologies for three unusual shots.

My parents spent Christmas with us.  Mother's birthday is December 22nd and I had intentions of doing a post in her honor.  I'll do that... later.  Mom and Dad arrived on her birthday after a long, snowy drive from Arizona to Utah.  We celebrated.

 

Christmas week, we went sledding, worked on a puzzle, ate and drank, shoveled snow, built an igloo in the backyard, relaxed, ate and drank some more, and shoveled more snow.

 

I made Beef Wellington for the first time EVER.  [Sorry Sherri, I know you're a vegetarian, so don't look at this or click to enlarge.  It's a big hunk of "tortured flesh" - John Robbins' words, not mine.]

 

The days between Thanksgiving and Christmas were fewer this year.  I know many of us felt it.  I was mailing Christmas letters on the 24th, and I have a few more to address.

Christmas morning arrived even though I wasn't quite ready for it.  And everything was just. fine.  It was better than fine.  It was peaceful, there was falling snow, and we were all happy to share time together.

The economy dampens my spirit, and increases my stress.  It affects us all.  Chris and I are taking things a day at a time and trying to focus on what's important, and release the things we can't control.  [Remind me I said that when I freak out - please.]  I hope everyone was/is able to enjoy the simple things this holiday season.

Mary in her pretty dress...

 

Santa Claws

I really thought this year would be different.  Toddler Child seemed excited to see Santa, let him know he'd been good and would like an R2-D2 Potato Head, drums, and cymbals for Christmas.

I picked up the two older boys from school on Wednesday and told them this was THE DAY, so please be patient, do it for your little brother, be a good example... and I'll buy you garbage food in the Food Court when we're finished.  They could even have a beer.  Deal.

The line wasn't long so we only waited 15 minutes.  While waiting, I noticed it wasn't the usual Santa for this mall.  The new Santa was rounder, yet didn't have a soft appearance, and he had a floating eye.  Uh-oh. 

As the line moved along, Middle Boy and Oldest Boy were rolling their eyes and whispered to me, "Do we HAVE to do this?"  YESSSSS! I hissed.  Be positive for Toddler Child, I said through gritted teeth.

Toddler Child asked to be held and began the possum cling when we were third in line. "I don't want Santa.  I scared," he said.  I told him Santa loves children and would never hurt him.  I pointed out the infant on Santa's lap at that very moment who was NOT crying or frightened.  Toddler Child watched every move Santa made and continued to cling to my torso.

We were up.  I took charge.  I told the two older boys where to sit and what restraining techniques to use on Toddler Child.  I told the photographer, "We've got a screamer and a fighter.  I'll hand him to the Oldest Boy, tell Santa to protect his sensitive parts, and just get a shot - any shot.  GO!"

The two older boys moved quickly and were seated next to Santa, who looked confused and stressed - it was hard to tell with that floating eye.  As I stepped towards Santa, Toddler Child screamed like he was being murdered.  Oldest Boy tried to pull him off of me.  It wasn't going to work.  Toddler Child was terrified and I felt badly.  I looked at the photographer and said, forget it.

I snapped a few pictures then the photographer tapped me on the shoulder, showed me a little stool, and suggested I sit in front of Santa with Toddler Child on my lap. 

It didn't go well.

As we left, I apologized and promised all three boys we'd NEVER do this again.  I meant that.  I wasn't even going to post this picture, but Supermodel (my friend, workout partner, and neighbor) talked me into it.

We all got drunk on greasy food in the Food Court and felt a little better.   Toddler Child was worried that Santa didn't hear what he wanted for Christmas in all the chaos.  Oldest Boy assured him that he had told Santa everything on his behalf.  [He really did too.  I heard him.  Oldest Boy's a much better mother than I am.]

Leaving the mall, I expressed my regret over the scene we caused.  And it was a scene.

Oldest Boy said, "Yeah.  Everyone was staring at us. Those Mom's were mad 'cause you scared some of those kids waiting to see Santa.  Kinda like a dentist."

Fake smiles can cut like a knife.

I wish I had an exciting, clever story to tell how Supermodel and I conquered the Competitive Couple. 

Something like...

Tuesday 5:00 a.m.  I pick up Supermodel at her house.  She gets in the car, pulls down the mirror and applies red lipstick.  We drive in silence.  Knowing what must be done, words aren't necessary.

5:02 a.m.  Our hair slicked back in tight ponytails, wearing push-up bras under our clingy, black with cutouts in all the right places, intimidating workout clothes - my ink actually revealed for the community to SEE - we enter the gym.

We quickly scan the cardio machines.  No sign of the Competitive Couple and there are two ellipticals available.  Seconds later, the door opens behind us and they enter.  As our eyes meet, panic consumes them.  His nostrils flare, he's ready for the race.  She looks nervous, and wishes this would all go away.

They give us their best fake smiles.  Supermodel and I look at each other and nod.  The Competitive Couple fast-walk to the "cubbies" where keys and jackets are housed.  They both have short legs so their fast-walk made them look very silly, and not cool at all.  Supermodel and I strategically left our jackets in the car.  But it didn't matter.   The ellipticals were ours.

Supermodel has legs for miles.  In two, long, gorgeous strides, she was on an elliptical with her equally, long, gorgeous arm reaching for the one beside hers - staking claim for me.  I have short legs too - but it doesn't matter - I have Supermodel.  Strut, strut, hop, hop - I was on the elliptical.  I looked cool and calm though, not silly.

The Competitive Couple walked by and again, gave us their best fake smiles as they climbed on the exercise bikes with the BIG, uncomfortable seats that make your hips roll awkwardly from side to side as you peddle.  Not cool.

5:03 a.m.  Supermodel and I nod at each other, satisfied... and begin our workout.  Mission.  Accomplished.  WE ARE the Competitive Couple now.

Reality...

Tuesday 5:00 a.m.  I pull in Supermodel's driveway.  Hmm.  No lights in the kitchen window.  I call her cell phone.  She answers groggily, "I'm out.  Rough night."

5:02 a.m.  I arrive at the gym, no sign of the Competitive Couple.  Three elliptical are free.  I hop on one and start my workout.

5:10 a.m.  Competitive Couple arrives.  We all fake smile - real hard.  They put their things away and leisurely walk to the remaining two ellipticals.

That's it.  Fake smiles were as nasty as it got.  Sorry.

 NOTE:  My favorite fake smiler of all time is French Stewart as Harry Solomon on "3rd Rock from The Sun".  Kristen Johnston as Sally Solomon is a close second.  I squinted and looked pained in my fake smile - just like Harry.

The Competitive Couple

Supermodel and I belong to a small fitness center in our town.  It's close and meets our needs.  We usually get there around 5:30 a.m., but have recently decided to arrive earlier because more people are appearing.  There are only a few cardio machines - four ellipticals, three treadmills and two exercise bikes.

A month ago, a new couple joined the gym and have been dedicated to early morning workouts with a trainer.  They look to be in their 40s, relatively trim and are pleasant enough. 

Each gym has its own social rules and culture.  It's important to learn those rules and adapt accordingly.  Some people don't care about the rules and culture.

The man (of the new couple) used to turn the volume up too loud on the news program he was watching to compete with the gym music.  I gave him "the look" a few times so he doesn't do that anymore.  He reads the sub-titles like the rest of us.  He also is more demanding than our regular morning group when it comes to what channels are on the televisions - "the look" isn't helping that situation.  He seems to be adapting to the etiquette of our gym... slowly.  His wife stays close to him but has not behaved in a way which warrants "the look".

Today, I picked up Supermodel at 5:15 a.m. and we drove to the gym.  As I was waiting to turn into the parking lot, a Suburban turned into the lot [no problem - they had the right of way], hit the gas, fishtailed for several yards, then skidded into a parking spot.  I'm pretty sure we were the only two vehicles on the road... for miles.

Supermodel:  Did you see that?

Me:  Did he just fishtail?

Supermodel:  Yeah. [chuckling]

Me:  Who is that?  Is that that little couple?  That guy looks like Steve Carell.  OHMYGOSH, they're racing us!

Supermodel:  They want the ellipticals.

The Suburban had barely stopped and the couple jumped out and ran up the stairs into the gym.  There's only about 10 people there in the morning, so it's not like we don't recognize one another.

Supermodel and I walked into the gym and sure enough, the couple were on two of the ellipticals.  I don't know how they managed to get their jackets and keys put away in the 10 seconds it took for us to  run walk through the doors.

Instead of pretending like they were invisible and we hadn't noticed their immature race, I chose to say something.

Me:  Boy.  You were really in a hurry this morning.  Fishtailing through the parking lot...

The Wife:  [looking at her husband]  See.  I told you you were going fast.

Me:  Seemed like you were racing us.

[...]

Me:  Supermodel here, figured you two wanted the ellipticals.

Supermodel gave me "the look" because I'd just thrown her under the bus.  I figured she wouldn't mind being the sacrificial lamb today.  I might have figured wrong...

The man smiled, nostrils flaring, he seemed slightly uncomfortable, but more victorious.  He said, "Everything's a competition."  His wife looked a little embarrassed, but again, more like, "I'm with my hot, Steve Carell man!"

We all gave our best fake smiles, got on with our various routines, and I think Supermodel's irritation with me for involving her without her permission, dissolved.

I'm picking her up at 5:00 a.m. tomorrow... game on.

Because the kids love it.

We haven't taken the kids to see Santa this year... yet.  We will though.  And we'll pay nearly $500 for the quality photo taken by the harem of Mrs. Claus's that work so patiently and quickly to get the "money shot". 

We have forced our children to sit on a strange man's lap every year for eleven years now - since Oldest Boy was two months old.  Some years it's a peaceful, fun process. [Well, maybe it was like that twice.  Or once.]  Usually, it's terrifying for at least one of the boys and completely stressful for Chris and me because of the lines, the screaming, the fitting, and the families with obviously sick children sneezing and coughing in our air space.  We drink when it's over - even if it's in the morning.  True.

I won't bore you with every Santa photo... just the good ones.

December 2001.  This marked the first and only year that Chris and I both had to enter the photo in order to force encourage children to sit on Santa's lap.

 

December 2002.  Only one child needed restraining coaxing.  [Chris put the DARK socks on Oldest Boy that day.  I would have NEVER let something like that happen.]

December 2006.  Toddler Child had been crying and struggling to escape [he kicked off his shoe], when suddenly he became hypnotized by a member of the Mrs. Claus harem.  I wish that woman lived with us.

December 2007.  THIS is the beauty of having older children.  They can participate in the restraining coaxing.

I just know this year's gonna be great!

My brother, my friend.

My brother Mallory Joe has always been one of my closest friends.  He's my only sibling and I'm older by three years. 

NOTE:  I only refer to him as Mallory in a loving way.  Our personalities were parallel to Alex and Mallory Keaton on the 1980s show Family Ties.  I was like Alex and Joe was like Mallory.  We've always been able to laugh at ourselves... and each other.

Growing up, friends teased us.  They said it was weird that we got along so well.  "Chrisy and Joey never fight.  So weird."  It was true - mostly.  We generally got along and played well together as young kids, and as teenagers we were tight.

I attribute this NOT to any inherent kindness or gentleness within my brother Mallory Joe or me, but to Mother.  On the occasion we had a kid fight, she would say and do the following:

1. If we hit one another then tattled, Mom would say, "Chrisy, if you really need to hit your brother, go ahead.  I'll just watch.  Go on now.  Hit him.  What?  You don't want to.  Joey, maybe you'd like to hit your sister?  Come on... let her have it."  My brother Mallory Joe and I would look at each other like she was sooo stupid, and try not to laugh.  It worked though.

2. She dramatically lectured us after each argument about how there's NO ONE in the ENTIRE world as close as siblings.  The BLOOD that ran through our veins was sibling blood.  Not even she and Dad were that close.  NOTHING was more important than the relationship between siblings.  The lecture was powerful every time I heard it.

3. Mother always made us apologize, hug and say I love you.  Always.

Except... for the times she wasn't there to lead us in a rousing rendition of Kumbaya.  We relied on our training to find Shangri-La, and it usually went something like this...

[My brother Mallory Joe 17, me 19 (home from college for a weekend), ending an argument about something important like, what kind of drink he should (beer) or should NOT (a Blue Hawaiian - duh) order when I get he and his friends into a bar when they visit me at school and ALL sleep in my dorm room.]

Joe:  You're just an uptight bitch!
Me:  YOU'RE an uptight bitch!
Joe:  Ha ha.  Bitch.
Me:  Bitch.
Joe:  You're an idiot.
Me:  You're a bitch.

[...]

Joe:  Wanna go sit on the swing set and have a cigarette?
Me:  I don't have any.
Joe:  I do.
Me:  Okay...  I'm sorry.
Joe.  I'm sorry too.

We hug.  My brother Mallory Joe gets the cigarettes and a lighter.  We climb to the top of an old swing set in the backyard.  It's dark.  We sit quietly, and share one cigarette between the two of us.

Me:  Are you sure the neighbors can't see us?
Joe:  No.  Just hide the cherry.

[...]

Joe:  Hurry.  Here they come.
Me:  How can you tell?
Joe:  I know their lights.  Give me the smoke!  Go!

I hand my brother Mallory Joe the cigarette, run inside the house, grab his Polo Cologne and spray it all over myself and him as he comes in the back door.  We hear the garage door open.  We frantically wash our hands, run to the couch, assume relaxed positions and turn on the Weird Science video we'd rented for the 10th time that year.

Mom and Dad walk in, smile at each other and say, "Isn't it nice to see the kids enjoying each other?"

Kumbaya.  Puff-puff.

Does it hurt? Will it make me pretty? I'll do it!

Chris received an email recently from a business acquaintance who's launching a new web service.  It's called Beta Test Beauty and it's "...a market research service for skin and beauty-care makers..." They're seeking people who are interested in sampling products then answering a survey.  The products are provided free and participants will be paid.  I've signed up, but have no personal experience to share yet - good or bad.  Check it out if you'd like.

My Beauty Philosophy (today)
I don't begrudge any person for wanting to look attractive.  I currently don't judge women or men who choose to use Botox, Fillers, Thermage, Lasers, etc... if it enhances their self esteem.  I also admire those people who are at peace with their appearance and don't feel the need to moisturize, plump, fluff or pluck.  How freeing that must be.

My Skin History (like you care)
In the 1970s I recall laying in the sun with Mother.  If I was reading a book, resulting in my face looking down towards my lap, she would lovingly say, "Chrisy, tilt your head back.  Your face needs a little sun."  I was eleven.  She was only trying to be helpful.

In the 1980s I lifeguarded during the summers throughout high school and college.  I never wore sunscreen.  Ever.  On my days off, I sunbathed in a bikini so I wouldn't have Speedo tan lines.

During the winters while attending college at NAU in Flagstaff, Arizona, I worked at Snowbowl - a ski area - in the Rental Shop.  I loved having a tan face from skiing, and often sat outside during my work breaks, tipping my face to the strong, mountain sun.  No sunscreen.  Ever.

In the 1990s Chris and I raced mountain bikes.  The unique tan lines cyclists get are a badge of honor, but for a gal, not so pretty.  When not riding, I sunbathed to even out my tan.  For hours.  Again, no sunscreen.

Ruh-Roh (not looking like the other girls my age?)
When I turned 35 in 2001, I looked in the mirror and said, "Shit."  Years of sun worship had taken their toll.  I vowed to use sunscreen daily, leave behind my tanorexia, and pursue safe wrinkle-reducing creams and strategies.  Pale is *pretty*, I decided.  I also became a marketer's dream.

The Products (you name it, I tried it)
I've tried everything over the past seven years.  Expensive, inexpensive, and infomercial products.

Little by little my skin began looking better. 

I can't tell you if it was Creme De La Mer, Darphin, La Prairie, Strivectin, Mary Kay, faithful sunscreen usage, or Kathie Lee Gifford's stuff on QVC.  Maybe a combination of everything, but there was a definite improvement.  The fact that I hadn't been baking my skin for a few years helped, I'm certain.

Then, I plateaued around the age of 40.  Nothing seemed to work any more.

Mother (trying to be helpful, and usually right)
"You know Honey, a little Botox and Filler wouldn't hurt you...  I really like that More magazine.  You should read it..."  She's been trying to get me to read More since I was 35 and accused her of prematurely aging me. [FYI, Mother has only heard that Botox and Filler are a "good thing".]

Botox and Filler vs. Expensive Creams? (laughing, snickering, winking with those who know)
So I did it .  Not a lot of it, and only a couple of times.  Mother took me in July of 2007 and I got some Botox and Filler.  To be honest, it was too much Botox and since then, I've found the amount that softens deep lines without affecting expression.  I've been told by close friends that it's so subtle, why do I bother?  Because it makes me feel better.  That's why.

The only creams I use on my face now are Retin-A and Neutrogena SPF 45.

Confessions
1.  Even though I signed up for the Beta Test Beauty project, I can't imagine I'll ever return to spending money on creams and serums.  Retin-A, sunscreen, and a little Botox twice a year...  I'm good.  Even if I don't do Botox - the Retin-A and sunscreen are better than anything I've done prior.  [Mother gets me Retin-A in Mexico.  Shhh.]

2.  I like More magazine.  I don't have a subscription, but I pick up an issue occasionally.

3.  Mother was right.  She usually is.  Except for the part where she prematurely aged my skin.

4.  I haven't had Botox in over six months and it REALLY does leave the body in 3-4 months.  I didn't believe people who said that, until I'd done it myself and felt sad when it's effects were gone.  I don't know when I'll do it again, but I will, and it won't be very much, but I'll feel happy, even if no one else notices.

5.  I had Filler in my nasal labial folds - the parenthesis on each side of the mouth.  FYI, Botox does not hurt.  Filler hurts.

Moral of the Story
Whether you're choosing to age naturally or... not... Use hair color, hair remover, moisturizers, sunscreen, make-up or... not... Let's try not to judge one another.  I don't get professional manicures...  you don't bleach your mustache.  We can still be friends.

When I was 15, I was deep.

Deb at San Diego Momma's has a PROMPTuesday exercise today that interests me.  Because... it's easy.  She requests we describe in detail, a memory from our 15th year.  I began journaling when I was 11, so I pulled two journals spanning 1981 and 1982 [when I was 15] to aid in this assignment.

Connie at The Young and The Relentless has periodically posted excerpts from her teen diaries titled "The Connie Diaries".  It's both fun and uncomfortable reading her words.  We've all been there.

Instead of describing one memory, I'm borrowing from Connie's idea.  I'd like to share pieces of my world when I was 15...

 

I had a special English teacher my freshman and sophomore years in high school.  He encouraged us to journal in ways I'd never thought of prior.  The journals [above left] were like an accessory.  The exterior appearance was important. 

The first page in each journal [above right] had my favorite quotes at the time.  If you're interested, click on the photograph - you should be able to read them.  Simple quotes, but to me they were deep and profound.  I didn't even smoke weed.

I wrote in my journals creatively, but more often than not, they simply served as a diary.  I sketched, and taped pictures and articles that I thought were deep onto the pages.  I REALLY wanted to be deep.

  

I don't know if Erma Bombeck was deep, but I was already thinking about how to be a good parent.  My parents were good and loved me very much, but like many kids, I never felt understood and I developed empathy early.  An empathy I projected onto my future children.

I was a runner then.  Still am - well, a trotter anyway.  It was a way for me to connect with Dad, also a runner at the time, and I really enjoyed the endorphins.  Runner's high?  It's real.

 

I even tried to make running deep. [See photo above left.]

Like the "Connie Diaries", I thought I would share something I wrote when I was 15.  I found a few decent poems and short stories, some funny, well-documented antics with friends, and plenty of teen angst [seems to be the theme these days with that vampire stuff].  But I'd like to share what I wrote on January 5, 1981... so technically, I was only 14 1/2-years old. 

The words aren't exceptional, but I want to contribute to the "Teachers Are Important And Make A Difference" campaign bucket.  This is what I had to say about the memorable English teacher my freshman year.

January 5, 1981

... Mr. H. is such a neat teacher.  Of all the teachers I've ever had, he makes the greatest impression on me.  He influences me so easily.  I look up to him and hope to be as sweet and gentle a person as he is. I can't picture him being unkind towards anyone, or giving them an unfair chance.  He told us when he meets someone he always gives them the benefit of the doubt.  He automatically likes them, or he assumes they are a good person, then he leaves it up to the person if they want to prove him wrong.  He's a neat guy.  You won't come across too many people like him.  I'm glad I've had a chance to be taught by him.

Then, because I wanted to be deep, I included two quotes..

"Do not seek yourself outside yourself."  Ralph Waldo Emerson

"To be great is to be misunderstood."  Ralph Waldo Emerson

Followed by my OWN deep thought.

¹I wonder what it would be like to be a nun?  

THE END.

¹ I'm not sure what THAT was about.  I'm not even Catholic.

Thanks, Punk Rock Dad.

I had a couple of posts in mind for this morning, but they'll have to wait.  Punk Rock Dad gave me an award and I'm sincerely flattered.  He's a cool person and I'm a dork. 

You might be wondering why such a "cool person" would be passing out an award graphic with a hat/purse/little-dog wearing girl on it.  It really isn't his style.  BUT, because he's secure in his masculinity, and is a bit of a Renaissance man, he graciously accepted, posted and forwarded this cute little stamp.  He also created a new version of the award that has a different "F" word in it.  I'm no prude - I actually battle impulsive potty-mouth -  but, I'm choosing to go with the nancy-boy version.  My nominees may choose to display the newer, hipper, PRD-stylized award, found on his site.

THE RULES (*gag)  *PRD's word, not mine.  I LOVE rules.

1. You have to pass it on to 5 other fabulous blogs in a post.

2. You have to list 5 of your fabulous addictions in the post.

3. You must copy and paste the rules and the instructions below in the post.

Instructions: On your post of receiving this award, make sure you include the person that gave you the award and link it back to them. When you post your five winners, make sure you link them as well. To add the award to your post, simply right-click, save image, then “add image” it in your post as a picture so your winners can save it as well. To add it to your sidebar, add the “picture” widget. Also, don’t forget to let your winners know they won an award from you by emailing them or leaving a comment on their blog.

Because it says list 5 of your fabulous addictions, I guess that means I can leave the shitty, life-shattering ones off the list.  Whew.

Five Fabulous Addictions:

1. All Bran.  I eat All Bran almost every day, sometimes twice.  Prepare yourself for TMI once again, but I love to have a good BM.   EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.
2. Retin-A - It really works.  I've been using it for a year now.  My age spots are fading and my skin looks a little smoother.
3. Hand Lotion - I get dry-hand anxiety if I don't keep lotion on my hands.
4. Order - Punk Rock Dad teasingly said I couldn't list "cleaning" as an addiction.  I wouldn't say cleanliness is my problem though.  I can't relax when there's clutter in my space.  Order soothes me.
5. Coffee, Wine, Cheese, Bread, M&Ms and Taco Bell Mild Sauce
   

Five Fabulous Bloggers:

1. Sherri at Oh. Hey. Hi! - She's crazy smart, strong, funny, and I'm thrilled to call her my friend.  I anxiously await her posts.
2. The Demigod - He's soooo entertaining, and VERY good looking, plus he lives where my mother lived as a child.  I heart you Pumpkin/Buttercup/Mustang Burn!
3. Decoy Betty - This gal with the curliest hair I've EVER seen, should be doing homework instead of blogging... but I adore her posts.  She makes me feel young again...
4. Tinsenpup - She's a gritty Maya Angelou.  Check her out, and snoop around her sidebar links.  Good stuff.
5. The Floydster - A woman who's on a life adventure right now.  Surviving and blogging.  Cool.

Thanks again Punk Rock Dad.  Off to eat my All Bran...