This Modern Love column Carolyn S. Briggs really held my attention and brought back some old feelings about family, holidays and expectations.
Consider the opening:
MY three vegetarian, activist, urban, multi-degreed, agnostic, adult children have rejected Christmas as a consumerist sham of a holiday, one in which they will not be participating. Oh, they’ll take the day off and drink organic wine, but they won’t be buying presents, putting up a tree, baking cookies, lighting candles or decking any halls. There will be no taking of a family picture for their card and no sending of that card or any other.
My parents didn’t have a Christmas tree this year. When I visited for Thanksgiving, my mother gingerly broached the subject.
Not to be confused with the hipster bun, here’s a how to for the man bun.
Dude sure likes his gel.
Truthfully, this video left me wailing “WHYYYYY?” but perhaps some of you are desperate for this sort of knowledge (and are unfamiliar with how to search YouTube) so I’m posting the clip as a public service.
I proclaim this woman, whose essay appeared in the New York Times, to be one part brave and two parts absolutely insanely foolhardy.
I decided to do my prenatal appointments and delivery at the French military hospital, Bouffard. The anesthesiologist did little to reassure me.
“Sign this,” he said in French, sliding a piece of paper across the desk. “It says you have considered the risks of giving birth in Djibouti, that we can’t medevac you out, and that you understand there are no proper neonatal pediatricians and no neonatal care in the country.”
I gulped and skimmed the paper, which also explained that, should I need a Caesarean, he would perform it.
“I recommend you go to France,” he said. “Or Dubai.”
I shook my head. “My husband is an English professor, and the university will already be in session. I can’t do it alone.”