Fashion Forward

A long time ago (just shy of three years) in a far away land (Texas), lived a woman who enjoyed wearing pajama pants (Care Bears. Blue. With Stars) out in public. (That's me!) She insisted on being "comfy" at all times, even if it meant looking like she deserved to be on PeopleofWalMart.com.

Then, one day, said lady went to the grocery store with her two very small children. There she ran into a girl she knew from high school. Not just any girl...but one of the cheerleaders.

Said cheerleader was dressed appropriate for the store. The PJ Lady was not. Cheerleader took one look at the two snotty children, the PJ-clad mama with wet hair, faked a half smile and ran.

It was a glorious stomping to my self-esteem, yet it didn't make me try to dress any better. Why? I don't know...perhaps I reveled in the fact that I looked like a Hobo, which may be totally politically incorrect to say, but true. Except most Hobos would probably take offense at my wearing the blue Care Bear PJs and relating myself to them.

Don't believe me? Here's one of my "fancier" outfits from the time. Note the "born to camp" shirt." Classy.




Exhibit A:

Then, one day, I realized that maybe people want to make friends with gals who get up, get showered and then get dressed! I started slowly. The whole shower thing in the morning was a total buzz kill, so I started waking up, putting on workout clothes and then taking my children to preschool.

Yes, I'd pretend to go work out. Then I'd go home and take a shower. No PJs in public! Yay me.

I've been taking baby steps over the past three or so years. I went from the Care Bears and fuzzy slippers to the gray "yoga pants," then the workout clothes. Eventually I managed to put on jeans! In public! Before bedtime!

Now I am proud to say that I can wake up in the morning and get dressed...all before 8AM. I'm making a concentrated effort to really try to look decent. The area I live in is considered a "small town" and you do run into a lot of the same people on a daily basis. That means no PJs out in public, no yoga pants, no fuzzy slippers or anything with a cartoon character on them!

I want these people to have me as their friend, no consider me as the possible babysitter.

And, well, it is working. I'm feeling good about myself. I ENJOY getting dressed in the mornings and I'm even enjoying taking part in The Working Closet's 30 days of fashion flickr pool.

The best part? I enjoy the fact that the majority of my clothes come from thrift stores! I enjoy finding clothes that fit me for a fraction of the cost.

Exhibit B:

Now, if only I could go back and time and tell myself to lay off those Oreos...I'd be set.

How to Go Crazy; A Photo Tutorial

How to have dirty floors: a picture tutorial.

First: Have your husband get laid off. Get him another job in a different state. Have two weeks to get there.

Second: Make sure your husband is very annoyed with your older house that you're selling. He's super tired of repairs and fixing things last minute so that you can get your money back. Make him insist on new McHouse with view of mountains.

Third: Find him a nice McHouse with view of mountains. Make sure McHouse includes cream colored tile and carpet.


Fourth: Make sure the state you move to is Arizona. Arizona lacks grass and has an abundance of dirt and sand. If your children are like normal children, they will like to go barefoot or wear sandals. That insures the dirt will NEVER come off their feet.



Fifth: Add in a dog. A large puppy. Make sure puppy gets bit by rattlesnake and has a big huge festering wound. Bring him outside with you, complete with festering wound, because you're worried he'll go and pee on that light colored carpet.


(Crotch licking is optional.)

Add all together. Bring inside house. Have heart attack on daily basis. If you're feeling really lucky? Hand the kids Halloween candy and let them drop wrappers on the floor as they watch Spongebob in a candy-induced haze. 

Betty Throws a Party, Forgets the Cupcakes

I think most adults, when it comes to food, has something they are known for. My husband's aunt, for example, makes a mean Jell-O that involves pie filling. Seriously, you'll eat it and wonder how you went so long without bathing yourself in its Jell-O-ey goodness.

Then there's the people who always bring chips to get-togethers...and really, I don't like those people. I also hate it when they bring store bought cupcakes....because, man, what a letdown. First, you're like "oh boy, cupcakes!" and then you find out that they came from the cheapo grocery store down the street and taste like shortening.

When I do cupcakes, I go all out....all out to the point where I like to take pictures and my husband says "let me guess, you're putting those on the Internet again, aren't you?" Why even make cupcakes if you're not going to put them on the Internet? WHY?

So, last weekend, the weekend before Halloween, we threw a Halloween Party. We've only been here since March, so it was a little iffy if we'd have enough people show up or if everyone would be creeped out by those new people who are inviting them over for brownies and cake.

We had tons of families show up, each with a gaggle of children, all ready to crawl through my husband's "haunted house" he set up in our homeschool room. I wish I could have pictures to show this to you...perhaps I can find some, but there's just no way to describe this beast that has taken over my house for the past two weeks.

Anyway, so the party is starting at 6pm...and I'm doing good. I'm making snacks, I'm making dinner, trying to get everything done. Then, at 4:40, my husband starts asking about this video I borrowed from the library. All it is is a fire. A campfire, to be exact. All 30 minutes of it is a video of a campfire...which is kind of cool and spooky. He can't find the video! Where is the video? Woman, what have you done with it?

As he's running around like crazy, I tell him to go BACK to the library and get the other copy. I doubt they've had a rush on crappy campfire videos and if he hurries, it will be his. Here's the deal: He's got 20 minutes to get there before they close.

On the way out, he calls me from his work cell phone and starts mumbling about pizzas and how I need to order them. I'm figuring, with all that I'm making, we need about two. He's thinking along the lines of nine.So I appease him and say "seven," though I finally change the number to five.

So, about 5:10, I'm starting to panic. The kitchen is a disaster. I'm not dressed (nor was I wearing deodorant-- hooray!) food is everywhere and I'm not ready. Then, I get a call from my husband. "YOU ORDERED FIVE PIZZAS!" he said in a panicked voice.

Dude, we're feeding a bunch of 4-8 year olds, not a football team. And, trust me, most of these kids have skinny mamas...they're not scarfing down boxes of pizzas.

I call my mom, who had just moved here the day before, in a panic. "COME! NOW! HELP! HELP!" Then she comes and I start drinking alcohol and wondering why we just didn't go and cater this whole thing. Don't people cater little Halloween get-togethers for kids? Huh?

At that point, it gets a little fuzzy, but I'm pretty sure I finally put on deodorant.

The party was excellent, even if I forgot to change and didn't have on makeup. (Hey! Only one horrible picture showed up on Facebook. Score!)

Finally, after everyone left and I surveyed the (not so bad) damage, I realized it...I didn't even make cupcakes. In fact, I hadn't baked ANYTHING from scratch.

I looked at my husband, who was busy scurbbing pots. "I guess we'll just have to have a Christmas party, then."

Cider flavored cupcakes, anyone?

THEY'RE ALL GONNA LAUGH AT YOU!

A long, long time ago, I remember spending my days being so incredibly bored. My husband would come home from work and I'd complain about how bored I was...how we needed to get out and Do! Something!

These days, I feel as if I'm a chicken with my head cut off. I'm running around, spewing blood and bumping into neighboring cows and pigs.

Luckily, we have plans to steam clean our carpet soon-- that'll help get rid of all that chicken blood on the white floor.

Be back soon. Really soon.

Let Him Eat Cake

"So, what's for dinner," my husband asked Thursday after I picked him up from work.

In a very dramatic fashion, complete with throwing myself in a rumpled heap on the couch, I said "NOTHING! WE HAVE NOTHING TO EAT!" We couldn't even just eat noodles with cheese, as we were already out of shredded cheese and I had used the last of our sliced provolone two nights before (in place of shredded cheese, to be exact).

After what seemed like an hour of me complaining about how we're always out of food and we don't even have four raisins to share-- never mind two of us do not eat the nasty buggers-- that we were all going to starve and die and where's Al Gore when you need him-- we came to the conclusion that dry noodles would not work.

Finally, we got up and headed over to a local Mexican joint, one my daughter refers to as "Old Charles," though it is not old and nobody there is named Charles. We dined on enchiladas and margaritas and headed over to the local Hippy Health Food Store in the same shopping center.

I personally like doing my shopping after having an alcoholic beverage. It makes it a bit more fun.

"Squeeze the melons, children. Just sqquuueeeezzzzzeee them." 

My husband brought the two kids over to the Halloween store to view the creepies while I did my shopping. The store was rather empty, as most of the Snow Birds in town do their shopping on Wednesday afternoon- DOUBLE AD DAY!-- before they go and eat dinner at the resonable hour of 4pm.

Before they can have that dinner, however, they have to drive slowly down the road, hands perched at 1 and 11 on the wheel, while staying precariously close to the center lane.

Yay for snowbirds! I hear they taste like chicken.

I wheeled my cart through the store quickly, throwing this and that into my basket, hoping to get out before the kids came in and started screaming for organic gummy worms from the bulk bins. As I stood in line to check out, I realized that I had a basket of food for my son.

You see, I hardly ever eat sugar anymore. I'm more of a social sugar eater-- desserts and such at parties, but I don't snack during the day. So most of the prepackaged foods at the store, even the Hippy Health Food Store, are out.

I'm looking into the basket and I see $70 worth of things to keep my 3-year-old boy fed. Hippy Pop Tarts (for snacks on the go, not breakfast), Hippy Fruit Strips, honey sticks, kefir, Annie's Mac and Cheese, strawberries, prunes, raisins, nuts...the list goes on and on.

How is it possible for one child to eat so much? I swear he must have a tapeworm...it is the only way I can explain how he can down so much food in such a short time.

This is a child who could eat a twelve course meal and then, 30 minutes later, ask for a snack, preferably goldfish crackers, if possible.

I spend my days trying to think of ways to feed him without overloading on things such as crackers/pretzels/goldfish. Apples with honey, apples with peanut butter, yogurt, fruit strips, popcorn, fruit, frozen tubes of yogurt...I do it all.

And yet, he is still not satisfied.

It is to the point where I just want to keep a basket of fresh snacks next to me on the couch, and when he asks for "a 'nack," I can just throw a piece of meat at him and tell him to eat like a shark (no hands allowed!).

If I could at least keep him occupied by trying to catch meat in his mouth for at least half the day, I feel there's a chance I could cut his food bill in half. If the whole plan works well, and he's successful eating like a shark, I might even consider springing for that expensive grass fed beef.

Eat your heart out, 99 cent store.

I'm always surprised when I see pictures of families with kids and I notice that they have nice things in their house. Nice things? With children? Really? How the heck do you do it?

I gave up on nice things oh...about five years ago. Why bother? The second I'd bring a $1,000 couch into my living room, someone would climb on it and use it as a uncapped marker holding station. I can already see the black and blue streaks everywhere...probably because I have matching streaks on my couch.

My couch is a beauty. I love my couch. It is orange, holds three adults and even folds out into a hide-a-bed! How great is that? What is even better about my couch is that we got it on the side of a road. It was at a church garage sale and the sign said "Free!"

I know my taste is different than other people's taste...but how could they not think someone would want to pay for this couch? Heck, I would have paid $10 for it. Maybe even $20. But the fact that it was free cemented the love I have for my couch even more.

When we first moved to Arizona, we needed a lamp for our living room. We bought a lamp from a big box store, which promptly broke. So, we bought another one...but having spent over $1 on it meant...the kids broke it.

I don't think the world's supply of duct tape could hold this sucker up. It hunches like a drunk in a bad wind storm-- you never know what is going to set it off and make it topple.

And then, I saw it. Our new lamp. It was at a resale shop we frequent and I had my eye on it. I want to say, originally, it was $10 or so. And then it was listed in the half price sale. When it didn't go...it went down to 99 cents.

99 cents for a lamp, people. That's less than a dollar!

I bought that lamp and brought it home. I couldn't stop raving about my awesome new red lamp to sit next to my awesome orange couch! The only problem was that my husband wasn't down with me about the lamp. He worried how long it would last in our house-- this being a large breakable lamp next to the couch...also known as our "diving board."

If something has ever screamed "break me" louder than this, I'd be surprised.

Even better? My 99 cent lamp is sitting atop a 50 cent table I bought at a yard sale. My entire living room set cost me less than $2. 

As I sat and admired my beautiful orange lamp, I turned and looked at my husband. "Who cares if they break it," I said. "I'd be sad, sure. But it cost less than a dollar. At that price, the kids can break as much furniture as they want."

Because, when something costs $1,000 a little crumb on it is a big deal. When the entire set is less than a Starbucks latte...you could drop an entire crumb cake on it and I wouldn't even flinch.

Hair, There, Everywhere!

I have spent the past few days thinking constantly about my hair. Okay, nix that...the past few weeks? Months? I'm one of those people who have Grand Ideas when it comes to my hair, but the second I sit down in the stylist's chair, my ideas go out the window and I say things such as, "Let's shave all my hair!"

I wanna be Britney, darnit! Make me Britney!

Several years ago, I went pixie. As in boy cut. It was cute and it took all of two seconds to fix my hair in the morning. But then...the pixie just got on my nerves. I worried I looked like a boy. A boy with boobs, but a boy. I worried it highlighted my double chin. And so, one day, I grew it out.

Have you ever tried to grow out a pixie hair cut? Have you ever tried to pull your fingernails out one by one? The process is very similar.

Here's the picture of the pixie:


Here's a picture of my hair, yesterday:



I've started wondering if I can do a version of this:

As I sat in my stylist's chair, feeling both scared and bold at the same time, I started analyzing hair. What is it that I like? What is it that I don't like? Who would my hair vote for? Who would my hair like to meet most, living or dead? Does it have a favorite book? Has it ever been a part of Oprah's book club?

And why do I have such a fear of having "mom hair?" I am a Mom, aren't I?

My stylist insists that Mom Hair is a state of mind (she's 26 without kids). I say "I want to be fashionable! I want to be a hot mom!"

She takes a hot curling iron and smacks me across the head, hoping it will shut me up. It doesn't work.

I read a blog recently that asked about what my look says about me. Hip? Cool? Frumpy? And honestly, I don't know. I hope, on the cusp of 30, that it says I'm finally getting things together. That I'm finally starting to figure things out. That hey, my shoes and shirt match for once and I actually change out of my pajamas before noon.

And if all that's too much? I hope it at least doesn't say sometimes I forget to brush my teeth.