I need to take a cue from Michelle O. My Easter Fashion Fail.

The Huff Post reported this starting headline re Michelle Obama.

Michelle Obama’s Easter 2013 Outfit Is A Prabal Gurung Repeat

Dear God in Heaven. The First Lady wore a dress to church Easter Sunday that she had worn before.

 

Well, this was my Easter morning.

Eyes opened to dark and the sound of rain. First thought. No sunrise service.

I went back to sleep. Arose a little later. Crammed iTunes gift cards, chocolate rabbits, seeds, hummingbird feeder into Easter baskets.

Had a nice family moment once children were somewhat vertical and had woken up enough to be semi-human.

Then I got everyone ready for 9 o’clock church. Sent them out the door. That left me to get ready for 9 o’clock church at 8:55 a.m.

It was still cloudy and damp but it was Easter Sunday. I pulled out a long skirt (that I’d had at least five years) and turquoise Easter egg blue sweater. Which I covered with another sweater. IT WAS DAMP PEEPS.

At last minute decided on flat sandals instead of distressed cowboy boots because spring was on the calendar and if not in the forecast.

And it was Easter.

I drove the three blocks, parked and clomped my way toward the sanctuary — all bundled up in my prairie skirt and layered sweaters.

That is when I first noticed them. All those long, high-heeled legs getting out of cars. The women. The young women with toddlers wrapped around their bodies, the middle-aged ones herding sullen teens and older women patting nervously at their hair.

EVERYONE was decked out. Like slammin’ good looking. Limes, fuchsias,  silk turquoise (not wool fakey cashmere). All the women looked so fine and I looked like I was heading to a 1940s hoedown after a barn raisin’. Without a shower.

And don’t get me started on those girls home for the weekend from college.

 

 

Well, I tried to pose like that to make up for my lack of Easter style but my 12 year old said I was making her nauseous and to stop.

Honestly.

I vowed to never let Easter sneak up on my again.

Who am I kidding? I’ve never been like the other girls. My Easter bunny was brown for pity’s sake.

But I should have put forth more of an effort on Easter Sunday.

The first lady looked appropriately Easter beautiful, even if it was a second wear. I looked like I was going to a movie. At the Lubbock Cinema Draft House.

Next year I’ll be ready.

I’ve got 384 days to prepare. I think.

What about your Easter style?

 

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Mirror, mirror on the wall — what’s the youngest haircut of them all?

“Mommy, you look young,” said my smiling 8 year old sticking his head over the car seat.

“I do?”

I knew getting my hair chopped was the right thing.

“Yeah, without your glasses you look about 24.”

“Twenty four? Do I really, my most favorite child of the moment?”

“Yeah —  well, you look 24 with wrinkly skin.”

*   *   *

Every child said my hair looked good.

 

My husband said he liked it too  — but he’d better since he was the one who’s been mercilessly lobbying that I cut it for weeks.

“You look more professional. Like a writer,” was his comment.

“What did I look like before?”

I will refrain from his exact wording but the image that came to mind was of a female Ernest Hemingway who had stumbled down the aisle way too many times.

Which I thought an accurate portrait of the angst-riden, gut-wrenching novelist that I am. (Well, without the novelist part.)

So 24? At 24, I was just finishing graduate school and realizing I didn’t want to practice law.

The farthest I’d run in my life was about four miles.

I was with my Johnny and my hair probably was the length that it is right now.

I might go shorter next time.

What about you? Long, short or are you like me — just depends on the mood?

 

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Musing on space alien hairdos.

 

I had to figure out how she did this hairdo.

I went to elementary school today and had lunch with my daughter. We saw Caroline Schlabach sporting this great look.

 

Hannah Kate and I went home and had tried to figure out how to get that cutting edge Halloween look for ourselves.

 


Don’t think we’ve quite got it.

 

Curses. I knew the day would come when my daughter would be a prettier space alien than me.

Has that day arrived for you?

 

 

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Muse on dressing for the Steeple People.

What to wear?  I gazed upon things worn a million times and a few things worn hardly at all — clothing too much evening wear for church wear.

It’s a line to never cross…especially as you age. You’re supposed to know what looks approproe for the Steeple People.

Of course, I was dressing for the Lord. But that wasn’t on my mind. I was late; mad I missed early church again and didn’t want to wear the same old thing.

So I  uncovered something older.

Digging deep I saw a skirt bought six years ago. But I ruined the silk blouse that went with it. (Careless dryer moment.)

Looking upon a shirt I never wear, it seemed to match the green in the skirt.

Must be Talbots. They have color themes each season.

Mother used to give me Talbots gift cards for presents. I assume this meant she didn’t think much of my fashion sense. And Talbots clothing is well-made, conservative and interchangeable — kind of Garanimals for adults.

Put skirt and blouse together, along with a necklace bought a half-decade ago. Threw on a thin belt from Target and black sandals.

The Steeple People loved my over-half-decade old outfit.

My gals in Sunday School gasped when I walked in. My first fashion gasp ever — in a positive way.

A friend stopped me and asked to borrow the “outfit” on a business trip with her husband.

Me and daughter and “outfit.” Daughter asked that I pose goofy. I didn’t.

 

 

  Photobucket

 

Don’t know what to make of this?

*  Clean out my closet to see what the heck is in there.

*   Rethink my fashion life as a Steeple Person.

*   Rethink this Talbots gift card thing.

How do you decide what you’re wearing for church?

 

 

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Musing on Football Camp. Reliving My Glory Days.

You want your children to forge their own path in life.

Climb every mountain, follow every dream.

But it’s got to be their mountain.

My son is heading into his senior year. That means college this time next year. We’ve been looking at schools and checking out football programs to see if it is something he would like — and they would like him —  to do. These thing are two way street, I guess.

He went up to Presbyterian College a few weekends ago. Sitter malfunction resulted in my having to stay home with our two younger ones.

Some of the photos Dad took.

 

 

Saturday, Dad, our son and I were up at Davidson College.

 

 

Dad.

It was hot. 

Dad, who played college ball….sat under a tree.

But I, who played college ball….was drawn to the field like peanut butter becomes one with grape jelly folded into bread.

I watched every second ~ except the seconds I checked my phone.

 

Being in the weight room again…

Smelling the bars with their scent of dirty pennies….

After taking this photo, I lay on the bench and blew out a few quick reps for old time sake.

I missed those days of intramural ball with the Thetas.

My husband thinks our son’s athletic coordination comes from him.

I know better. I remember the roar of the crowd, the feel of leather against the palm of my hand. The intoxicating smell only found wearing a helmet and sweating in 100 degree heat index.

I miss it so.

How about you?

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Musing on shopping for sunglasses.

I LOVE shopping for sunglasses.

Nothing so cheaply bought can make me so happy.

Well, nothing I can think of at present.

They must have recently stocked the walls at Target.

I did have the children with me — so that cut down on how many different pairs I could try.

Gray, gold, shell, metal. white, pink.

Round, square, dinner plate sized or tapas. The only thing I’m not too keen about on me is anything cat-like. The ones that pull your eye upward.

Ick.

But after trying on lots, I got down to two pair.

And today I let my children pick the winner.

They’re perfect.

Until I lose them 10 3/4 days from now and have to go through the entire process again.

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Musing on scary legs. Winter white legs.

I fell for the wear-black-leggings-to-workout-in trick. 

I knew my legs suffered by not being able to run for the last six months.

But I had gotten serious about weight-training and regularly attended spin class — at least once every three weeks. And they looked fine in exercise gear.

This weekend was the first really warm weekend. The kind that makes you rummage around and unearth articles of clothing you forgot existed.

I found a pair of shorts. They went on fine. They zipped up fine — which is always a relief. I looked down.

*Gasp.*

I walked…

SCREAM.

Parts of my leg did wiggly, jiggly stuff. Big Parts.

My skin was translucent — other than huge bruises.

Those damnable workout pants. They hold stuff in and smooth stuff out. Leaving you thinking things are fine. Thinking that you are doing better than average for a woman of your station in life.

Dear God in heaven…when did this happen? I had no idea things were so bad.

I need to be out on my bike — to firm and colorize legs. Who am I kidding?

Maybe I’ll just never look down again?

Yes, I’ll be so much happier if I never look down again.

I’ll fashion one of those collars they make dogs wear so they can’t scratch their ears — or bother body parts.

Looks like, it's been done before.

 

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Musing on new shoes.

The little soccer player with Amanda.

My son needed new soccer cleats.

Another $20 gone because of the dog.

We went up to see Amanda up at Hibbets.

That wasn’t unsual. What was different was Daddy came with us.

Daddy decided to try some new shoes.

 

What can I say…my guy definitely marches to his own drum beat.

Yes. He did leave the house like this.

And he does like socks like that…he can’t do the completely hidden ones.

Don’t ask.

He said the Reeboks were fabulous and that I would give up my Nikes for them.

Never say never….

But with this never is on the tip of my tongue.

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Musing on sane selection of toenail polish.

My writing teacher says never to break your promise to the reader. I think she means deliver something good in your writing. Yesterday’s post promised (sort of implied) that I would answer the question, “What is church for?” Well, today got really busy. And if you count that as a promise, I won’t deliver. But there is one piece of wisdom I can impart.

I picked up this bottle of nail color. Spring….yay.

I thought this spectacular.

So did my 10 year old.

Then I flipped the bottle over and saw this….

What might be my first clue not to wear this shade?

Bieber.

But I bought it anyway. And it is on my toes right now.

A tan would really help. Tan feet that is.

But I’m sticking with it. So if any of you see me wearing this shade, rest assured it was my choice and not that I was some wonderful kooky mom who let her daughter paint her toes.

I promise to answer the church question.

Someday.

 

 

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“Bend and Stretch, Reach for the Stars. Or At Least My Big Toe.”

Firmness. My body was void of firmness and if you disliked reading my thoughts on blue jeans and oatmeal you better stop here.

When I injured my knee last fall, my body and the tightness there of quickly became a casualty. In my year to push through comfort zones, I chose not to panic about such flighty things. Then the Victoria Secret swimsuit catalog arrived followed by the release of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue and I found myself online ordering the 1960s Butterwick Pattern 3115 of a Gidget swimsuit and cover-up. (more…)

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