Fashion Sheep

This is a post that I wrote when I guess posted on another blog several years ago. It has never been published on my blog, so it might be new to you.


I was watching a local daytime talk show a few months ago, and one of their guests for the day was a lady who they referred to as a "fashion expert." She was there to tell us all about the new fashion trends.
Just the day before, this fashion expert (we'll call her Laverne) had gone through the closet of one of the ladies hosting the show, (Let's call her Shirley) and removed a large stack of clothes, and brought them to the television studio, and picked through them on live television.
She told Shirley that her that her clothes were out of style, and she just couldn't wear them anymore.

Shirley was shocked "But I love those clothes!" she protested.
"No" Laverne told her, picking up a really cute skirt "Nobody wears skirts that length anymore."
Shirley: But that's my favorite skirt! It's so comfortable, and it looks so cute with that pink blouse that I you told me to buy."
Laverne: No, I'm sorry, it's got to go. You really shouldn't even have this in your closet, it's quite dated.
Shirley: But I just bought it last summer!
No, it's just not in style anymore. You can't be seen in it. Donate it to charity.

Laverne went on to pick apart this poor lady's wardrobe. There was something wrong with everything.

Laverne: You really need to get rid of this suit also. The color is all wrong. This year turquoise is the hot color. Everybody will be wearing turquoise.
Shirley: I thought that gray was the hot color this year. Just a few months ago, you told me to buy everything gray.
Laverne: No, not anymore. Turquoise is now the hot color. Nobody will be wearing gray this year, everybody will be wearing turquoise!

I really felt sorry for this television host, and if I was anywhere near the size she is, I would have gladly offered to take the clothes off her hands. They were darn cute.

My question, where does this "fashion expert" lady get all this information, and why does her opinion matter so much?
Who is it in the big scheme of things that decides what's "in" and what's "out" as far as fashion trends go? Who is it that decides what does and does not look good? Why do we all need to follow what they decide?

This past winter, we were just leaving a movie theater, and a group of teenage girls came running in the door. Outside it was snowing heavily, and quite cold. These teenagers were all wearing shorts, flip flops and hoodies. The girls were all huddled together shivering, goose bumps all over their bare legs, and complaining about how cold they were.

Hello! McFly! Put some clothes on!

I would really like to know which girl in the group decided that it would be cute to wear shorts and flip flops in sub freezing temperatures, and why the other girls in the group were compelled to follow her. I wonder what would have happened if one of the girls had rebelled and worn, oh I don't know, maybe A COAT! Would she have been shunned from the group and not allowed to participate in the group activity? Would the other girls have left her alone, and then made fun of her saying how stupid she looked in her warm clothes while they stand shivering in the snow?

Why are we all such a bunch of "fashion sheep?"

What do you think, are you more likely to buy something you like that is comfortable, or something that someone else has decided looks good?

(Of course, this post doesn't apply to shoes, because most fabulous shoes just can't be comfortable;0)

Oh, well that changes everything.....

This week at Brielle's Young Women's activity, the girls learned how to make their own pajama pants.
We went to the fabric store, and after looking at what seemed like every bolt of fabric, Brielle found some blue fleece with cute little pink pigs all over it.

Brielle loves pigs.

She made the pajama pants and they turned out really cute! She comes home from school and immediately changes into them. (and I can't blame her, because they look really soft and comfortable)

Tonight Brielle was attending the birthday party of her friend Audree. She was struggling to think of a present to get her, and I suggested that she make her a pair of pajama pants.
She LOVED the idea, and so off we went to the fabric store.

Again.

She found a cute print with yellow rubber ducks all over it.

As we were looking at the fleece I decided that I wanted to make myself a pair of pajama pants too, so I started looking for a print that I liked.
Brielle really got into this, and was suggesting the most bizarre prints. Bright neon tie dye fabric, bright red with big Christmas lights and big colorful crayons on a black background..........

She was really enjoying herself while thinking of me wearing pajamas made out of these fabrics.

Until I said "Just remember dear, that these pajamas will be what I will be wearing when I drop you off at school in the morning."

She paused, then disappeared around the corner. She returned and handed me a bolt of plain, dark purple fleece.

"Here mom, this is perfect!!"

Dilemma solved?

Yesterday I posted a question about wearing brown shoes with navy blue pants.
In counting up the comments, the "yes, it's OK" vote and the "absolutely NO" vote were neck in neck. The "I don't know/care/have a clue/just wear slippers all the time" vote was much higher than the other choices.

So I have finally come to the conclusion of what I must do to solve this dilemma myself.

Buy new shoes.

Yes, I think the only way to solve this is to buy a pair of shoes specifically to match these pants. Of course, if I buy new shoes, then I'll probably need to get a new purse to match. I need a new purse anyway, so this shouldn't really be that big of a deal.

However, if I have a new purse and shoes, then I should probably get a nice haircut, and since I'll already be at the hairdresser, I should just go ahead and get some highlights too.

But then, with my new shoes, purse and fancy hairdo, I should probably get a manicure.

If I get a mani, then I MUST get a pedi, because the toes need to match the fingers.

Now here's a new dilemma, my new shoes won't show off my dressed up toes, so now I'll need to buy some new sandals so I can see them. Seriously, what's the point of having a pedicure if you can't see your feet?

Unfortunately, it's still too cold here to wear sandals.

I'll need to go someplace warmer.

Hawaii? Bahamas? Caribbean?

If I'm going one of those places, I'll need to get a new swimming suit and sunglasses too.
Oh, and I'll want to take my husband with me, so now I'll need to find someone to stay with the kids.

Since the kids won't be coming with us, I'll end up buying a bunch of souvenirs for them and for me too..............................





I've suddenly decided that I really can't afford to have my shoes match my pants.

Fabulous or fashion faux pas?

Brown shoes with navy blue pants?



Please discuss.

Four going on fourteen

Today Max was wearing a new pair of pants that he received as a gift for Christmas. They didn't have an adjustable waistband like his other pants do, so they were sliding down a bit. As he walked around, he was holding them by the sides to keep them up.

"Hey Max," I asked "Do you want me to take in those pants for you and make the waist smaller so they fit better?"

"No, they're OK" he said as he hiked them up again.

"But they're falling off of you."

Then he says to me "NO they aren't, if they were falling off of me then I would look LIKE A TEENAGER!"

Fruit of the loom Lament

Here I lay

forgotten.

Stepped over as some pretend that I'm not here.

But I am.

They sometimes kick me, and I fly

into the corner.

I cry, for I am sad.

They are afraid to touch me, they cringe as they come near me.

My soul cries out "I am clean! I am not soiled!"

And yet, I am shunned.

I am left alone, invisible to those who should see me,

but they look not upon me.

I have lost my way, fallen from my group of friends as they were carried away,

and left alone, among a sea of unfamiliar faces.

Toys and books and television remote controls mock me.

They know not the pain of abandonment.

For their batteries are still good.

I think of the one with whom I belong

and

I wonder if they will remember my softness and how easily I stretched and conformed to bring comfort,

yet, didn't bind.

I have loyally protected against the dangers of denim and the draftiness of nakedness,

still,

I lay here, waiting for someone to claim me as their own.

The one who needs me most denies that I belong, and wills others to take care of me,

yet,

I know that in nine days I will be searched for,

because I came in a package of ten.











p.s. Would the owner of the pair of underwear dropped on the family room floor on the way out of the laundry room please come forward to claim your property. You know who you are, and due to the size, color and gender of said underwear I know who you are too.

Thank you,
The management.

Just when I thought I had nothing to blog about....

This morning I saw my kids, laying around in their pajamas, and decided that they needed a goal for today.
"Hey guys" I said rather enthusiastically, "why don't you do something funny today so I can blog about it?"
They groaned and went back to watching TV.
They haven't done anything funny for a while. Seriously, what am I supposed to blog about? The fighting is getting old. The teasing is getting old. The whining is getting old.
Then, something weird happened.

They all got dressed without me telling them to.

Apparently, they wanted something.

They wanted to go to the park. I explained that the dishes would need to be done for this to happen.

They did the dishes.

This was too weird, so we all piled in the car and we went to the park. While there, I told them that they needed to do something funny so I could blog about it, so they climbed to the top of the playground tower and had a burping contest.

We had a nice visit to the park. I sat under a tree and counted all the moms with their designer strollers, overly highlighted bumpit heads and daisy headbands that are bigger than their baby's head. I laughed because I'm pretty sure they don't realize that they're living a stereotype.

I look over at Max and for the first time notice that Mac & Cheese he had for lunch is still all over his face. I ask my other kids why nobody bothered to wash his face, and none of them answer. So then I ask Max "Did you know that you have Mac & Cheese all over your face?'
He nods yes.
"Did you forget to wash it off or are you saving it for later?"
"I'm savin' it for later."

And I'm feeling pretty good about life because;
1. He's only 4 and has already learned to plan ahead.
2. He wasn't wearing a huge daisy on his head.

Then one of the bumpit set got out a really nice, hand pieced, hand stitched quilt and laid it on the grass and dirt then rolled her stroller on top of it and sat down.
I had to look away.
(Seriously, I doubt that she had any clue how much work and expense went into that beautiful quilt, and she's got it laying on the ground!)

Max went down the slide about 100 times. The kid is a slide maniac.
Then we went home, where Brielle got out her notebook and proceeded to draw some rather uncomplimentary pictures of me. She thought this was funny until I told her that she couldn't have a popcicle, then she tried to back track and drew nice pictures. She drew pictures of herself with tears running down her face, saying she was sorry and very sad............
Then I noticed that one of the pictures of herself had a mustache, and she doesn't have a mustache.
I still didn't let her have a popcicle. I told her she could have one when she grows a mustache.

How long do you think I should stay mad at her?

It's THREE! THREE! THREE posts in one!

#1. Quote of the week by Max............

"Hey Mom! Come and see what I made in my room! Hurry! Hurry!
Come and see it, it's NOT DANGEROUS!"


#2. Wordless Wednesday.


Before you ask anything about this photo, my answer is I DON'T KNOW!!
Seriously, this is why I posted the photo for wordless Wednesday, I can't find any words to explain it.

#3. Due to the overwhelming requests that I bring it back,* here it is, back by popular demand!**

WORD VERIFICATION WEDNESDAY!

For those of you that are new here, (or those of you with memory issues) here's how to play.
#1. Go to the comment box.
#2. Look at that annoying word verification code.
#3. Make up a definition for the WV word and leave it in a comment.

It's just that easy!
Please remember to keep it clean as my children do read my blog.

Keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times and HAVE FUN!!!

* Nobody actually requested that I bring back WVW, I'm sure everyone wanted to, they just got busy.
**Nobody popular demanded that I bring back WVW either.

The gloved one and other happenings

No, this is not yet another tribute to Michael Jackson.

Made you look!!

A few days ago, Max found a pair of purple stretch gloves. He started wearing them every day, all the time. He even made up a song about his gloves.
He looked pretty funny wearing warm gloves with his shorts and sandals.

Today, I noticed that Max was wearing only one glove. At first I thought that perhaps he was wearing one glove as a tribute to MJ (because he's seen more MJ on TV in the last few days than he has in his entire lifetime)
I asked him why he was only wearing one glove and he looked at me like I was a complete imbecile and said "Because I don't know where the other glub is!"

So there you have it. Max might have discovered the real reason that Michael Jackson only wore one glove, he simply couldn't find the other one.

BTW, I have a theory, I think he didn't really die, he's gone into hiding, and is living in a double wide with Elvis in a town just outside of Scottsdale Az.

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This morning, Brielle got up nice and early so I could take her to the Rec center. Before we left, she looked through the kitchen to find something to eat, and found an energy bar in the cabinet. Knowing that her dad had bought the energy bars, she asked him if he was planning on eating it. He said that he was indeed planning on eating it, took it, unwrapped it and was about to take a bite when I walked into the room.
"Hey, are there any more of those?" I asked.
"No" DH replied, "this is the last one, but you can have it if you want."
I told him I didn't want to take it from him and he said it was really OK, he would just eat cereal for breakfast, and I said no, he could have it and he said I could have it, and............

Brielle jumped in and said that she wanted it, so DH gave it to her and she went out to the car.
I grabbed a Diet Dr. Pepper healthy piece of toast then went out to the car.
As we were backing out of the driveway I noticed the energy bar sitting in the front seat with one bite taken out of it.
"Brielle, aren't you going to eat the bar?" I asked.
"No, I didn't like it, it didn't taste very good" she replied.
Knowing that sometimes she can be a very picky eater, I asked if I could have a bite, and she told me that I could eat the whole thing.

I looked at the wrapper, cinnamon bun flavored! MMMMM Seriously, how could anything flavored like a cinnamon bun taste bad?

Then I took a bite.

My taste buds were immediately assaulted with the most vile taste I've ever tasted since I was two years old and ate dirt.

It was awful!

I thought that maybe I could just finish chewing it up and swallow it, but the more I chewed the "cinnamon bun flavored" energy bar, the worse it got! The texture was something similar to sand soaked in wax, only it didn't taste as good as wax soaked sand.

I hurried and spit the wad of disgustingness into a napkin.

Unfortunately, some of the residue remained in my mouth because it was stuck in between my teeth.
From the backseat I heard Brielle say "I told you it was bad."

Unfortunately, "bad" didn't even begin to describe it.

I asked her how she had managed to eat the bite that she took, and she replied "Oh, I didn't eat it, I spit it out in the garbage can."

When we finally got to the rec center, I bought some fruit snacks from the vending machine to help us "cleanse the palette" unfortunately, later on the ride home we could still smell the bar which I had foolishly forgotten to throw away.

When we got home I brought the bar in the house and told DH that it really tasted bad.

He laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed.

"Why do you think there was one left? he said "As soon as I smelled it, I remembered how bad they tasted."
Naturally, I wasn't very happy with this, because he gave it to us (practically tried to force me to take it) knowing full well how bad this thing tasted.

Brielle said it tasted like duck poop.

(and no, I have no idea why she would have any clue as to what duck poop tastes like)

Naturally, we have absolutely no intention of letting this go. We feel it was a cruel joke to not just let us eat the "duck poop waxy sand puke bar" but even encourage us to eat it!

We will get even!

Actually, we won't get even, we will get ahead ;0)

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Here's some new artwork from Max.
At first glance, one might think that it's a picture of a deranged zombie robot turtle with two disembodied heads floating around with arms where their ears should be and blueberry jam smeared all over their faces, but no, it is yet another illustration of Max being born by c-section. The floating heads are the doctors and the blueberry jam would be their surgical masks.
The strange thing about that is that in all the photos that the kids showed him of the event, none of them showed the doctor's faces.
Is it possible that Max actually remembers the whole thing?

Hmmmm. Something to think about.

At least in this version, even though I'm still bald, my arms have moved from my head to the side of my body.

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Why is it that I am the only person in this house that can hear the phone ring? Why do I need to run across the house at top speed to answer a phone that is sitting within arms reach of one of my darling offspring?

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The males in my family seem to be unusually gassy today. Not sure why.
Actually, I'm not sure why I told you that.

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Quote for the day:

"Chairs are for butts, not backpacks"

Fashion to the "Max"

Fashion statements made by Max in the previous week.

Rolled down socks

Cowboy boots with shorts (my personal favorite)

I'm not sure exactly what WHAT kind of fashion statement he's trying to make with these.

Any ideas?

Bad hair! Bad, bad, hair!

I'm having a bad hair day.

Wait................. make that a bad hair month.

Last month, I got a haircut, and while I wasn't thrilled with the way it was styled when I left the salon, I was sure that when I got home, I would be able to fix it the way I like, because I always do that.

No dice.

No matter what I did, I couldn't get it to look right.

Now, first of all, I do need to tell you that I LOVE my hairdresser. She usually does a great job. She is cute and bubbly, and it's so much fun to sit and chat with her while she fixes my hair. I actually look forward to getting my hair cut.

I have very few hairdressers in my history. When I was a teenager, I had very long hair, and would just go to our neighbor (who had a salon in her basement) every once in a while to have it trimmed.
Next, I went to a friend of my mom's (who had a salon in her basement) Every time I would go there, she would tell me that "Men don't like women with long hair" and she would try to talk me into cutting it all off. "No" I would always say "I just want a trim."
At one point, I decided that I wanted a perm, and asked her if she would be willing to perm my long hair. She said "Yes, but I would need to take a few inches off the bottom first."

Okay, I could deal with a "few" inches.

Apparently, her idea of "a few" and mine were totally different. I was thinking 3", maybe 4" at the most, but she ended up cutting off about 10" and then the with my hair being curly, it shortened it even more. The length of my hair, which previously had been about 4" past my waistline, was now somewhere in between my shoulder blades.

I was livid!

Needless to say, I never went back to her!

(There. That's a rant that I've been waiting to get off my chest for a few decades)

My next hairdresser was WONDERFUL. Everything I ever wanted in a hairdresser. She made suggestions, but always did exactly what I wanted. She recommended that I cut my hair shorter, but waited until I was ready. She fixed my hair for over 15 years.

Then she quit. Something about wanting to stay home with her son or something. Now, while I totally understand where she's coming from, and I also realize that being home with her son was much more important to her than making sure my hair looked nice, I was not happy about having to find a new hairdresser.

A friend recommended someone she knew and so I went to her. This lady always did a fabulous job on my hair, but we had absolutely nothing in common. She didn't have kids, and I didn't have dogs, so there wasn't much common ground to talk about except the weather, and seriously, how long can you stretch out that conversation?
She was also very busy (because she really is that good) so it was hard to get an appointment with her at a time that was convenient for me to schedule a babysitter for my kids. Of course I could try and make an appointment weeks in advance, but let's face it, I'm incapable of thinking that far ahead.

Next was my current hairdresser. She has always done a great job, so this cut was kind of strange. I always like my hair to curl under, but for the last several weeks, nothing I do will make my hair curl under.

So today, I gave up.

Maybe if I can't get it to curl under, I can try curling it so that it flips up. Maybe that was the look that my hairdresser was going for. I curled my hair so that it flipped up, and when I looked in the mirror, I remembered why I don't like to fix my hair this way.

This is what my hair looked like.



















Yeah, I think I need to get another appointment to get my hair cut.

Let's take a ride on the potty train

Dear Max,
The time has come for us to rethink this whole diaper thing. I mean really, diapers are SO 2007!
Isn't it about time for you to start keeping up with the current fashion trends. Do you know what all the cool preschool kids are going to be wearing this fall?

Underwear! Big kid underwear! Underwear with pictures of Lightning McQueen and Spongebob!
Just think of it, YOU can be a part of the "in" crowd!
All you need to do is learn the proper way to use that potty chair that we bought you a while back. True, it is very useful as a stepstool, a great storage area for your toy cars, and it's also a fun place to sit while watching television, but seriously, it can be so much more!

Let's do this Max, let's say goodbye to these tired old diapers. Out with the old and in with the new, I say!
What do you think buddy? Should we give it a try? Is it time to catch a ride on the "Potty train?"
Love, Mom

Dear Mom,
No underwear. Diapers. Just diapers.
You change my diapers.
Love, Max