A Letter to My Mother

Dear Mom,

I suppose, it being Mother’s Day and all, I could have bought you a nice flowery, probably pink card from Hallmark or American Greetings and that would have sufficed. Except that while those cards all say wonderful and true things sometimes only a letter will do. So here you go- a nice sappy, heartfelt THANK YOU, just for you this Mother’s Day.

Thank you for all that you have done for me this year whether it was coming to take care of me in my time of need, when life got too crazy and I simply needed my mother or when a beautiful deck just needed to be built. My yard is forever changed and it just goes to show that you do in fact, always need your Mom no matter how old you are.

Thank you for teaching me grace and manners. In this world today, they sometimes seem antiquated or quaint but they are in fact, invaluable. Because of you, I do not lick my fingers. I know where a napkin goes at all times and I can walk with my head held high safe in the knowledge that I know how to write a proper thank you note and so much more.

Thank you for being a role model all throughout my life. While we may not always agree or take on life’s challenges in quite the same way your guidance, advice and mentoring has enabled me to pick myself up and find my own inner strengths. Through your words, hugs and more I know my talents as well as how to trust and follow my instincts.

Thank you for the friendship that has endured and only become stronger as I have grown from a child to a woman and a mother. You are always there in the good times and the bad, you rarely judge and when you do it is because frankly, I am probably making it hard not to. You are one of the best people I know to talk to and it is why I still cherish our weekly phone calls after all these years.

Thank you for showing me the first signs of love, how to love, to let go and what being a good partner and friend really means. I love you and Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!!!

Love, Vicky

XXOO

I'm sorry, I cheated.

Dear Hairdresser,

Would you prefer to be called stylist? I'm just not sure anymore. My confidence in you has gone. We had such a beautiful relationship. It was good while it lasted and then things just went horribly wrong. I'm not sure what happened still but your inability to listen forced me into the arms of another.

I hated to do it. I'm not one for betrayal. I really did think you had mad skillz in everything hair. The subtle way you wound highlights into my hair each autumn with the lowlights was completely stunning. Your service impeccable. You spoiled me. Your clean, vibrant, non-chemical smelling salon turned me rotten for everyone else. So did the cookies and chocolates on trays and all the other small touches I became used to when in your presence. I even, sigh, let you hug me when I arrived and left. I don't even have family that I hug that much. I feel so used.

Why did I betray you? Quite simply your lack of listening and communication was what did it. I yearned to be heard and not to be so blond even in the summer time. I looked washed out in photos and wanted something more natural even if I had to get my hair processed to achieve it. You did it once. Then you re-blonded me again despite my wishes. My whole head and not just the roots. You never just do a touch up or trim. You snip here, then snip there until my screams and cries fall on deaf ears and it is too late. The right side is done. Now you have to do the left. Don't get me wrong. No one can layer and blend like you. No one. BUT WHEN I SAY NO LAYERS I MEAN NO LAYERS! Remember that one time? You know you made me mad when I whirled out of there so fast breathing like a beast waiting to fight. I couldn't even look at you I was so angry. You sent me a gift card for $50 and letter of apology. It made me come back. I gave you another chance. And another and another. Then after that last cut with the BAZILLION nicely blended but KATRILLION layers in my baby fine hair I decided we must part ways. It was simply too much.

I've started seeing someone else. I just thought you should know. She's not you. She gave me the exact cut I wanted and I'm thrilled it's just not as fine a cut as you would have done had you listened. She makes me wait which you never did. I think of you while I'm waiting. This has not been easy on me. There was no lemon water and other stylists sullenly sat around this new salon. You would have never tolerated that. This new place. This new girl. They let hair sit on the floor. You truly did spoil me and I loved it. Every second. But, she listens. My hair? It's the color I asked for. The cut? It's exactly like the photo. Remember when you used to do that? When you used to listen?

I can feel myself caving though. That next time I will go back to you. I will surrender and go back into your softly lit salon. I will repent. I will make up a pack of lies about having my hair done while I was on vacation. I just can't bare for you to know I cheated on purpose. I'm a sucker for a very fine cut. I can't help it. It just grows up better. That's one thing beauty mags don't lie about. A good cut grows out for months looking well, good. Promise me when I come back you will try to listen? I want this to work so badly. Really I do. I miss my expertly cut perfectly thick side bangs bad.

Yours,

The Client


A new review is up on Mummy's Product Reviews. Beauty Confidential, the new book by Nadine Haobsh formerly Jolie NYC. Nadine, a former beauty editor at some famous beauty mags herself, spills all the secrets in this funny, tell-all book. It's loads of fun and it teaches you how to do the perfect blow out.

Yet Another Open Letter

In the same vein as another smarty pants blogger I'm putting out this open letter.

Dear Hungry Hippo Crowd at my Local Farmer's Market,

The Farmer's Market. Just saying it brings to mind fresh produce, the open air, and a fun, relaxing way to spend a morning. I go often and always feel happy for the rest of the day. I have locally grown, pesticide-free food in my house and it usually still has the dirt on it from the farm. I love that, I really do. I even love the little bread company that draws such immensely huge crowds that buying a snickerdoodle takes fifteen minutes.

The immensely huge crowds with the cantankerously rude and impatient Sunday ogglers. I'm drawn to the big loaves of bread, rustic and charming. The giant cookies and tasty muffins just baked that morning. However, like any good little addict once I head to my dealer problems can arise. Problems like you annoying Hungry Hippos who knock a woman with a full stroller out of line. You people (oh yeah, I just said you people) who push your change heavy fanny packs into my back to get me out of your way. The woman who feels it's perfectly ok to suffocate my kid by shoving her plastic bag in my kids face. As my Mom would say, "Watch it Buster!" Oh lady there's a special place for you and it's NOT the front of the bread line!

What I really love the most about all you "little" Hungry Hippos is how helpful y'all are. When the nice lady trying to pay, you know the one who didn't knock anyone out of line, has her stroller fall backwards onto the hot asphalt nearly knocking her child senseless you should STOP AND HELP instead you just gasp and nudge me out of line. Gee thanks! I appreciate how you failed to see my fruit rolling to your Ked ensconced feet. I love how I really felt the community love when I simultaneously uprighted the stroller, my kid, and our purchases and no one even asked, "Is she alright?" as she wailed on and on. Nope. You only asked, "What's in the apple cookie?"

Hmmm.... maybe APPLES?!

I know you saw me, I was scrabbling at our ankles picking up my patti-pan squash. I know that next time I see you in line and your melon rolls out of your bag or you drop an ear of corn I will graciously pick it up and help you. I'll even smile. Why? Because I'm trying to make this planet better even if I had to write this open letter to vent. That is after all the point of the Farmer's Market. Now go by your cookies at Safeway where you belong!