Nails by Debbie

Please don’t be mad at me for writing this. No one has to know who it is I’m talking to, or about. Don’t respond here & no one will ever know it’s you. I don’t plan on giving away any details that would invade your privacy, I promise. I come in peace ✌️

Today I was eating lunch with my teenage daughter and my husband. My Remi is 17 but lately she’s reverted to acting like she’s 9. We don’t know why, we don’t question why. My girlfriends tell us it’s because God is preparing us to let her fly out of the nest and that it is completely normal. So, what do we do? We drink heavily and pray that they are right because I’m not gonna lie: She’s driving us nuts.

In fact, today at Newks, we were sitting beside you and your adorable curly headed little girl who was quite a bit younger than mine. Several times during our meal, I said to Remi, “Could you please be a good role model for this child sitting beside you? Could you please act like someone she might maybe, possibly, perhaps wanna grow up to be like instead of acting like someone she plays with on the playground at recess.”
And like a true nincompoop, Remi laughed.

I sat and looked at your daughter for a few minutes, because she reminded me so much of mine at that age; she was so pretty with big, huge eyes, watching everyone in the restaurant. And just like Remi was at that age, she was especially watching you. But you weren’t watching her - you were on your phone. And let me start by saying I would not in 1 million years EVER judge a woman who is sitting in a restaurant on her phone for GUILTY AM I.
GUILTY. AM. I.

So trust me, I am not writing this letter to judge you or shame you. If anything, I’m writing this letter as a confession.

I missed things. I missed little jokes that she told that I paid no attention to. I missed funny things that she saw in the other people in the restaurant and though she tried to point them out to me, i was too “busy.” I was certainly never a bad mother… Just a distracted one. 

I first noticed how beautiful your daughter was when, not once, but twice, she leaned her head down level with your phone and smiled the biggest smile at you, hoping it would get your attention. It didn’t. 

I noticed how gentle and respectful she was when she reached her little hand across the table and held yours, hoping you would respond in kind. But you were sending a text. So, you didn’t. 

I wonder how many times Remi Hope did that same thing to me. Probably too many to count.

All I wanted to tell you today was that very soon… very very soon… you will be sitting there with a 17-year-old. She will be telling you about her last date, and how she wants a new set of tires for her car, and what colleges she would like to visit over spring break. And you will wonder how you got there and how it all went so fast. And you will look across at the table next to you at the mom who is so tired and so busy and her little girl who wants nothing more than her attention, and you will wonder “how much of this did I miss, because I can never get it back.”

Tomorrow, when dad is at work, and the two of you end up alone together at a table at Chick-fil-A, or Raisin’ Canes, I hope you’ll remember this post from me. I hope you will remember that there is no text that is so important, there is no social media that you can’t go back and read at a later date, no Facebook emergency that compares to those big brown eyes that beg for you to pay attention. And that the funnest thing that you can do in that moment is listen to what comes out of her little mouth. 
Not because it is especially profound, but because it is rare, and it doesn’t last long. 

Do you know how many times I’ve said , “Hold on, Remi!” “Wait a second , Rocco!” So many. But now? I don’t miss a beat. Because someday no one will give a care what I say on social media, no one will watch my silly videos, no one will read my books… But those two children will still come home for the holidays and sit down around my table, and when they start to speak I pray that I drop everything and I look them in the eye so that they will always know: My mom stops everything when we speak. She learned a long time ago, to never miss a beat. 

Learn from me:
Look up.
Don’t miss a beat.

Mel

This is Vivian, a well-mannered Havanese who lives down the street with my neighbor, a well-mannered woman I’ll call “Brenda.”

I ran into Brenda at dinner last night and listened sympathetically as she related the details of a horrifying encounter between Vivian and a large Llewellin I’ll call Brutus. According to Brenda, Brutus grabbed Vivian by her head for no apparent reason, latched on, and began to shake her like the tug toy she resembles.

If you google “Llewellin,” you’ll read about “an attractive, energetic canine that’s become a source of contention within the dog world.” Apparently, some people believe Llewellin’s are nothing more than English Setters, while others are convinced they are a distinct, individual breed unto themselves. Whatever the case, the one we’re calling Brutus was trying to remove Vivian’s head, and Brenda was none too pleased.

Brenda began to scream, understandably, at the sight of her beloved Vivian halfway down the throat of an animal five times her size. Other people in close proximity, equally horrified by the unprovoked assault, began to scream at Brutus, demanding that he release poor Vivian. Brutus, however, did not comply. At which point Brenda leapt onto the big Llewellin and attempted to pry its enormous jaws apart, to no avail.

Things were looking pretty bad for poor Vivian, when a heroic bystander - I’ll call her Carol - assessed the situation, walked calmly into the melee, grabbed Brutus by the tail, and shoved a finger up his ass. At which point the big Llewellin dropped the little Havanese to the ground and ran off with his tail between his legs, the very picture of shame and regret.

Isn’t that fantastic?

The brutal death of a beloved pet, the inevitable brawl between the dog owners, the grief, the anger, and the expense of the subsequent court case…all avoided because a quick-thinking bystander had the presence of mind to shove her finger up a dog’s ass.

The more you know…

[EDIT] I just heard from "Brenda," who told me the breed that attacked Vivian was not in fact, a Llewellin, but a Heeler, which I believe is an Australian Cattle Dog. Apologies to Llewellin's everywhere. Their rectums, however, according to Carol, are indistinguishable, and feel pretty much the same...

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My Salon Life / Lessons: Tech Fatigue, it's real.

Long hours, hunched over a desk. How can I do it day after day, decade after decade?

Ergonomics.

I can control the depth of my desk, the height of my chair and the angle of my desk lamp. I sit squarely with uncrossed legs, seat low to keep my back straight but high enough to keep my shoulders down. All these variables protect me from bodily wear and tear: Back, neck, and shoulders.

But what I can't always control is how (you) my fabulous guests "relax". Some slouch, tighten up, become dead weight, slither away, or even drift off. And I've come to discover there's a real fine line between rigger mortis and limp noodle.

It's okay. You probably had no idea. But now that you do, let's take a look at the image below. You'll see there are a whole lotta don'ts and only two do's (and basically they're the same do).

Here's the basic right way:
Buns against the back of the chair, torso leaning forward, shoulders square. Arms stretched straight, elbows against the body. That's it.

If your elbows are open wide, you'll be reaching me at an angle and I'll surly file crooked.

If your free hand is resting on the outstretched arm, my left hand will gain a few extra unnecessary pounds of pressure to lift and manoeuvre. The heaviness isn't noticeable to you, but it really makes a difference on my end.

If your reach puts your hand less than 3/4 across the desk, I'll have to lean towards you and in minutes my back will be burning. I know we're always doing a kind of cha cha when I switch from finger to finger, but you do need to remain in my territory.

Lastly, I would love for you to just be able to "check out", but I really need your active participation. You're not a passive spectator and I do all the work. So, since this post is approaching me being as bossy as all get out, I'll just go all the way. Please, I beg of you, please, put your phones away and be ready to respond to my subtle cues. (Next finger, next hand, in/out lamp...) Please, keep your fingers contaminate free while I work. I diligently clean and prepare your nail plate for product application and seconds later you're touching/rubbing them or digging in your purse. I have to cleanse them again. It brings out the angry momma in me and I really don't want to scold you like you're one of my kids.

There. I promise I'm done barking orders. I'm so grateful you guys have my back. And that you'll help my literal back stay as healthy as possible. And my wrists. And my neck...

❤ Eileen
My Salon Life, Woodbury MN

WOW! After 6 months of using IBX Systems weekly this is the incredible result. The power of is amazing!

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