Makeover

Ohoo! I have curly hair. Yes, I just had a makeover.

Any woman won't probably say 'no' to a free makeover. That's why makeover shows are very popular. Who would not wish to be transformed to the best version of themselves?

Thus, when my husband suggested that I should have a makeover, even feeling slightly insulted (husbands are supposed to love their wives even for worse, read: wrinkles, fat rolls and under-eye circles. Ho! They rhyme!), I didn't decline outright.

Being in Russia and surrounded by beautiful women, I felt I needed it. Though I'm really wondering what could be done with falling hair (an after-giving-birth and nursing-a-baby phenomenon), sagging breasts and loose skin.

At any day, however, I can pass for a  sixteen year old (I'm short), that is, if you won't look too closely. Then you may catch a glimpse of a line or two on the forehead or a downy shadow of a mustache. 

Have a Messy Christmas!

Ho! Ho! Ho!

It's that time of season. Everybody is upbeat and in a celebratory mood. The snow is sparkling. The lights are twinkling. The aroma of food alone keeps one in good cheer. The brightly colored presents under a heavily decorated tree, keep anticipations high and spirits warm and loving. It's a time to be happy. A time to be merry.

But life, as we know life, is not all sparkly, not all warm, not all cheery. In fact, even as we celebrate with the tree twinkling and full of colors, tiny hands are reaching out and get a glass ball broken, or tiny feet racing around the house, little people shouting at each other, fighting or playing (who knows which), and big people screaming for them to stop. The cake did not turn out right. The oven acts out and the chicken is as raw as a leaf of lettuce in the salad, and everyone's hungry. Relatives come, tensions get high, 'cause there is at least one person in the family who just seem to rise the hair at your nape for no reason at all.

Life is messy. Real life is. It's not that picture-perfect Christmas card you just sent out to friends. It's that messy diaper that some of the time can't keep baby's clothes from getting soiled. It's the new shirt that you've just changed into and already smelling like spit-ups. It's the table all covered with crumbs and chicken bones. It's the messed-up dinner, the unmade beds, the reluctant children, piled-up laundry, the forgetful husband, the overwhelmed mom, the magic words left unsaid.