Results tagged "Clothing"

And… we are in big trouble…

Because look at her! HER! A little girl! Oh, how we didn’t even KNOW what this would feel like… with our world wrapped up in all things little boy… A LITTLE GIRL. And those eyes — she’s not judging any of us… NOT AT ALL. While she watches us walking around in circles, eyes crossed, bumping into each other muttering “A Girl, A Girl” over and over again…

Everything she does is cute. But the word cute doesn’t even really work  — it’s beyond cute. Beyond the limits of any definition, actually. And beautiful. Everything is beautiful. And perfect — nothing else can compare. But just wait, because I’m only getting ready to jump off this cliff of insanity… into a pristine pool of PINK FLORAL LOVELINESS.  I should have known.. I mean, I’m a girl. My Mom and two sisters are girls.. my girlfriends are girls… well, duh! even the gay men and metros are ladies. But the reactions… the immediate calming of voices to high pitched whispers… the mouths opening in awe and wonder of the spell being cast…. the immediate wrapping of her father around her little finger…  and my sneaking suspicion that she already knows way more than I ever will… Oh boy, a little girl….

I keep my socks in a hat box.

And last week, when I had to buy new socks, I had to go through the great sock reorganization… You know, the tossing of the old into the scrap pile — the searching through for the elusive missing socks… always leaving you in wonder as to how or where they escaped to… It might just be me (most likely) playing out the Alcatraz-like break-out from the sock box scene in my head… as the deceivingly warm but thin black pant socks form a union in the planning stage but then realize that they might need a bright white sneaker sock, one that isn’t afraid to get it’s hands dirty in the execution phase… And the constant secrecy to keep the big fat winter sleep socks out of the loop — there’s no way they are getting through the tunnel that they were in the process of digging… with their teeth.

And I know — SO WHAT? Who cares? I’ve never been one for hats — not the kind of hat that would live in a box, anyway, and from one end of the body to the other, keeping my socks in a deep round box just seemed — RIGHT. But that’s not entirely it… Oh no. That isn’t what this is about.

It all started eons ago when I spent a few months living with my Grandma in her apartment on the the Hudson — Irvington on the Hudson, to be exact (not to be confused with my Nana, who was equally sock conscious but lived in a warmer climate…). My Grandma was the master organizer, and socks were one of her specialties. She kept some of hers in a hat box in the little room that I stayed in. She also kept some in her file cabinet, hallway closet, laundry basket, sewing box, AND a sock drawer — which I’m sure was only for the really really good socks. None of these socks had holes in them. None of them even had a thread out of place, and she would check in with them whenever she had a little free time… unrolling them, rolling them back-up. It was great if you were there for this — sitting next to her — something about the socks made her talk about her life… questions came up — like would I evah wear heels with jeans?… No.. Grandma, no I wouldn’t.

I’m not sure where the fascination with socks came from, or perhaps it was just the comfort of organizing that made it such a ritual. She also loved to empty out her pocket book for the same reason. She kept her make-up in the freezer next to the coffee, weeded the cracks in her patio with a silver spoon AND wouldn’t let me leave the house without a full screening for wrinkles. It was perhaps the most organized few months of my life — and when I left, I immediately bought a hat box.

***WARNING*** May Contain Too Much Information***

Imagine me… running around as if hot coals were under my feet… maybe I’m wearing pajamas or a formal gown… or perhaps I’m dressed just as I am now, in maternity pants with a belly band that extends to the base of my neck. Here I am… hopping about, arms and legs extended.. give me a jump rope and I’ll skip repeatedly… Maybe I’m wearing a giant rainbow flavored clown afro-wig with Groucho Marx glasses — flailing flailing, flapping flapping… jazz hands in full effect… eyelids peeled back in a rather unsettling display of exaggeration… Braxton Hicks (EXCLAMATION!) have arrived.

And I know, this is nothing to worry about. There isn’t anything to FRET. All in all, everything is perfectly normal… Just a few short FOUR WEEKS earlier than they should be. As I run amuck — BRAXTON HICKS!, which must be said with the same fury as “I THINK THAT SAID ‘STOP’” or “WHAT DO YOU MEAN” or… “I NEED BALLS”… Braxton Hicks(!) are just a gentle warning. A calm reminder that EVERYTHING is about to change (again) in a few short weeks. And while all definitions point to “UM, YEAH – what did you THINK was going to happen?” Our new BFF — BRAXTON has decided fast forward the preparation stage. I mean whatever, right? It’s only a new HUMAN BEING, right? But wait…

Calming down now.. As I find a remaining snowy patch to lay down in… naked. Let us not forget that while HICKS (Dr. John Braxton Hicks — not to be confused with any other HICKS) can make it feel like one’s body is suddenly a vessel for a half ton of bricks, he is also a pathological liar…. A highly skilled liar that has been practicing the art of FALSE LABOR since the late 1800s. One would think that the medical community out there would do something about this… that they would come up with a solution or — at best — a more suitable name… like “NOT LABOR” when these falsehoods occur… but no. Baby-doctors must be far to caught up in other things… like FINGER COUNTING to care about things that happen in the confines of which we can barely whisper about… Shhhhhhh!!!!

Yes?

If so, then stop reading for a sec and pat yourself on the back. Because not only is having Personal Style admirable, it is also damn near impossible to achieve. In fact, and because if you answered yes — chances are that you are lying, Personal Style, if handled properly could possibly be the most important weapon in one’s possession. It is brooding. It is confident. It is calm, AND it doesn’t stray from classic.

Classic. Knowing when, how and what to say. Never giving up or into trends that might only last a few weeks. And most importantly, finding your Style and remaining loyal to it. Because just throwing yourself out there might just be the easiest way to wreak havoc all over the place. Figure it out… Try it on… Put it back. DON’T WEAR IT IF IT DOESN’T FIT. Look at yourself… Think about who you are and how you want others to see you. I might not know you, but I’m sure that you’re deserving… That is unless you are the dentist — you can go sit over there with the pharmacist and that guy from 7-11 — they have stinky breath too.

Personally, after an intricate critique, I find myself lacking but have become obsessed with the idea. The idea of going into my belongings in serious introspection — finding the key elements and tossing the rest. Clothing. Jewelry. Bags. Shoes. Makeup. Hair. Attitude. And it isn’t about what’s new or old, damaged or dated. It’s about taking the time to reinvest in the idea of Personal Style. And that, my friends, is where I’m headed…

In other news… the Brooches of Insanity are coming soon.. Yeah, and I know you’re waiting, but just hang on there PEACHES. Good things come to those who wait.

“That lady… That lady over there… She blatantly rammed into me with her cart…”

I could hear the whining from two aisles away—I was by the lettuce and he was by the fruit. “She could have just said excuse me, but Nooooooo, she had to go through me instead”. I whispered, “Are you kidding me?” under my breathe as a passing stock boy giggled. “What, WHAT is the problem? I don’t see anything…” said his companion. “What do you mean… right there — that lady (pointing from me to his foot) hit me with her dirty cart and now my shoe is scuffed and my foot hurts.”

Am I on Candid Camera or being Punked?

I had entered the local produce market quite innocently. It was a beautiful day, the crowd had not yet arrived and we were just running in for a few items. The market is unassuming — small and organic, yet slightly overpriced for the summer visitors. Turning the corner, I grabbed a small bag of Veggie Fries for Will to snack on while we shopped when suddenly, the unthinkable occurred. As I made my way to the deli counter, I maneuvered around a couple when I gently nudged the heel of a man looking just like Harold Ramis. Immediately upon impact I apologized, “I’m so sorry”, as he turned to glare at me.. “YOU HIT ME WITH YOUR CART!” he exclaimed as I began to apologize profusely. “Really, you could have said ‘EXCUSE ME’ or even ‘MOVE’.” he said, now yelling. But honestly, it didn’t seem that there had been a reason to, I started to explain but he huffed away, slightly limping as his partner — who seemed totally oblivious to what had just happened, followed.

But it only continued, as I stood watching him tap the shoulders of every person in the store — shoppers and employees… “That lady over there hit me with her cart!” he repeated, lifting his foot up to show everyone… my jaw on the floor. I mean really – RAMIS. You have on boat shoes and I barely even touched you. People were starting to stare. Yes, it was me – I hit Harold with my cart, as the Ghostbusters theme started playing in my head…Bustin’ makes me feel good! He was making a scene out of himself, suggesting to others that they should watch out for me… that wild woman over there with the giant child eating Veggie Fries — clearly I was INSANE.

And as it continued, I kept my head down as I shopped–only looking up to catch the eyes of people amused by the entertainment. I was trying so hard not to explode with laughter that I was losing my sense of direction and started filling plastic bags with way more oranges than I needed.. “Are you finished shopping yet so that I can get to the car to take my shoe off, I think it’s filling up with blood”, I heard him say to the woman who I can only assume was his wife. The wife that is probably in line for canonization. “I think you’re fine… I doubt she did it on purpose.” she said, finally throwing out the obvious.. “I can’t believe this. You saw her do it, how can you think this isn’t serious…I can’t walk in the sand with an injured foot..” he complained, following her to the checkout muttering about possibly needing medical attention… In his tee shirt and bathing suit, walking just fine, with his hands extended as if he was trying to understand why no one was listening. “I think you’re fine”, she said.

Everyone in the store knew I was embarrassed as I hovered in the back by the bread, peeking through the shelves until they had exited the building. When I made it to the checkout, the Hispanic women that see me on an almost daily basis couldn’t keep it together as we all burst out laughing… the store owner, who had appeared to see what all the fuss was about, shook his head saying “incredible”, as I wiped away my tears.

And as we moved on — out into the sun, I spied the man sitting on his tailgate, rubbing his foot while his partner appeared to be taking out her frustrations by cleaning out the car. I hope they had a nice day.

In other news, I’m stuck in the 80′s with more than Ramis today — I’m over at Culture Brats getting Kevin Bacon off of my mind… Enjoy!

But once I put it on it was simply demure…

And as I entered the market, it was clear that I was unexpected.
The clerks had not paid notice to the unkempt shelves.
Apparently restocking was not a priority.
Clearly, I had missed the mayhem.

And as I glided through the aisles, I hummed Shoplifters of the World Unite,
thought about making pesto, and tossed bogos into my cart with glee.

While cleaning out my closet.

Dust? Just toss em.
I’m hungry.
Everything would stay in place if he didn’t pull it onto the floor everyday.
Can I get another week out of these?
The clothes I wear when no one sees me go here.
I’d surely toss that if I could reach it.
Pink fuzzy pants with black printed dog paws. 
She’s nuts, why would she even think to contact me?
I didn’t know I had this.
Is that mold?
I was wearing this when I met my husband.
Don’t Mess with Texas?
Quick, where’s my camera.
Now this is funny.
Will this ever be MY closet again?
Nana’s gloves.
This will fit me if I’m ever pregnant again.
Tan suede?
I don’t think Jerry Garcia would care anymore.
I’m calling it vintage.
Ah yes, the lost sippy cup.
I never wear belts anymore.
I’m ignoring her friend request.
I wonder where they are.
This will never fit me ever again.
My GAWD.
She’s right, crushed velvet IS kinda creepy.
I haven’t touched anything on that shelf in 6 years.
MOTHS? Now the Moth Man is COMING TO KILL ME.
No one is that friendly… must be spam.
Maybe if I FACE like Richard Gere…
I need hat boxes.
What was I thinking?
Even a shelter would be offended if I donated this.
This still has tags on it.. maybe I can take it back.. wait, when did I buy it?
THERE’S FOOD IN HERE.

I am living a double life. It’s very taxing. One half of me is dying to buy up all the clearance winter cardies to keep warm in my house – it’s still winter after all. It’s Minnesota. But on the other, I think I must be dreaming of spring every night. Liberated toes. Open Windows. Cuffed jeans that show my ankles. So many live green things around that I might actually get sick of them. Shopping is a horrible push and pull between what’s affordable, and, alas, all the full price spring things I really want. I almost did an entire post on sandals. Instead Ry, this week’s green bits are in honor of your terrarium obsession. I’ll let you click through the link and see what’s really going on.

You can find me waxing poetic on kids spring obsessions over at Small for Big.

1. Dansko Sissy
   Sandals, Zappos.com $110
2. Moss for
   your wall, Ottoman  $35
3. Draped
   Sweater Cardigan, Textile Junkie at Target Red Hot Shop $59
4. Interchangeable
   Carpet Bag, Designs by Danna SALE $50
5. Kork-ease
   Colosseum Sandals, Sundance $128

It’s not easy being green… heck, I’d live in a terrarium if I could… And who wouldn’t? Kind of like being a goldfish.. or driving your car around at night with the interior lights on.  

I’m asking because yesterday I saw something that sent me into a deep meditation of WOW you are REALLY intense… So intense that the craziest thing I’ve done lately is order this brooch:

But then I thought further and it was total madness that I went out INTO THE SNOW to build yet another snowman. OR – perhaps it was the blue cheese that I allowed on my beet salad… Cheating myself is only PART of the diet game. Then there was the mixing of darks and lights in the laundry — something that I do ALL THE TIME. So insane that whilst at Target last week I took the chance on GINGHAM–My inner cowboy calling. I might just paint my nails… SOME ONE STOP ME. 

But there was a time when I was equally inspired… although I’ve never acted on the desire… I really wanted this exact same tattoo–to be worn with ratty jeans, black eyeliner and purposely tussled hair–just precisely out of place. 

And no. Courtney did not make it okay to have a gut OR go sans bra…Nice try though. But.. the image was burned into my brain. Okay – So WHAT IF 1995 was 15 years ago. I resisted the impulse by bleaching out my bangs. I know – how very SKUNK of me. ALMOST as insane as the triple pierce in my ear circa 1988–almost completely wiped from existence. And so… while others are out there doing what could be considered CRAZY – I just have to pay thanks… thanks for the allowance to live vicariously… and because if this was a level 3 on pain — in my world it would have been a 20… along with my safely coiffed brunette existence… I bow in envy. 

But would you just look at this? Art for Art’s Sake AND permanent to boot. Well done Vapid–Well Done!

Let me preface this entry by making a huge excuse for the spoilage of my son, Will. Aside from his inherent awesomeness and beyond this planet cuteness, he is also currently the only Grandson with one set of Grandparents, and a 3rd Grandchild to the other set. He is also a Nephew to my two sisters and my husband’s siblings – two sisters and a brother… not to mention the endless sea of extended family that we all love and adore. Then there are the friends… Wow, we sound like the most popular kids in school, right? Not.

In Will’s vast lifetime of 2 years… I think that Mr. Sal and I have purchased–at the most–10% of his belongings… toys and clothing… All the rest have been bestowed upon us by our loving collection of friends and family… The toys that have truly turned our home into a playhouse… and the clothing… MY GOD THE CLOTHING. Honestly, we love it… so if you are reading this… please DO NOT STOP… But during the holidays… it does beg the question as parents… What to buy?… I turned to Mari @ Small for Big, a friend that I am stalking whose website I am slightly obsessed with… I love Mari’s picks because the items are all dollar friendly, somewhat green and are usually created with an AWESOME design sense… I might just buy a few things for myself to display as our Holiday centerpiece.. Regardless, I’m sure by the end of this list I will have spent it all–sorry to the rest, it’s all for Will this year… Take it away Mari!…

When I sent out my request to help shop for the kids dear to you this holiday season, little did I realize Ry’s response would be: “what do I get for the boy who has everything?” Hmm. That’s one of those tough ones isn’t it. And with the grandparents’ tendencies to spoil kids rotten (we love it though, right?) I think the phenomenon is pretty common.

So, I thought I’d help her out with some of my favorites for a 2 year old boy who happens to like trucks, trains, blocks puzzles, and balls. There’s something in every price range here – and some great things for girls too.

Magic Gertie Ball – Many parents already know the wonders of the easy to grasp, easy to inflate Gertie Ball.  But the Magic Gertie is special – remember Hypercolor clothes in the 80′s? It’s baaaaaack.  (This is much better than my HS choir teacher and his hypercolor shorts. Not Kidding.)

Stacking Cone – An Act Two twist on the classic stacker – it’s definitely harder than your standard version – for the puzzler side of Mr. Will.

Billibo – A toy beyond explanations. Because it’s creative potential is best unlocked by a kid (hat? Rocker? Pail? Sled? Something never seen before?) This one made Small for Big’s theWANTlists this year.

Dexterity Stellina Color Sorting Puzzle – Mr. Will can find hours of puzzling choices with this crazy star-shaped shape/size/color sorter.

Douglas, from Monster Factory – Because every single monster at the Monster Factory is worthy of Mr. Will’s love, but I could only pick one.

Switchback Racetrack -  A vertical way to get your fix of racing, crashing, and little boys’ squealing.

Dalmation’s Choice Fire Engine – The Cadillac (sorry, fire truck) of ride-ons. It’s a retro classic to keep for the grandchildren. It has to be for that price.

Thanks Mari!–To follow up, en-route to our house via Santa’s sled (PS did you know that if Santa actually went as fast as he would have to go to reach all the children of the world in one night, his sled would burst into flames? sorry.)…

• Billibo – I’m just so curious to see how Will approaches this thing…
• Dexterity Stellina Color Sorting Puzzle – He loves puzzles!…
• Switchback Racetrack – Hours of predictable fun…
• Douglas, from Monster Factory – Honestly… ALL FOR ME, ALL ME – do you think Douglas drinks? Kinda looks like a Patrón man… shots anyone?