Tag Archives: style

Hey you guys!!!

It’s not my best look. I call it “just rolled out of bed not even wearing my cute glasses wearing my favorite sweater and only two sips in to a cup of coffee” chic.

Photo on 1-26-13 at 8.09 AM #2

I just wanted to sit down this morning and say Hey you guys! Yesterday afternoon yours truly was Freshly Pressed and with that comes scads (gobs? hordes? what shall I call you?)  of new readers that deserve a little shout out.

It didn’t seem right to get all fancied up and try and be something I am not and dazzle you.  So. Here I am.  This is where I usually am.  In my chair with the kiddo on the boob.  This morning is cold so I am enjoying one of the four (four!) cowl neck scarves I have recently crocheted.  Yeah.  I am a woman that crochets, guys.  I don’t know how it happened.  Sometime this winter when I realized I had watched everything on my DVR and every single series on Hulu I decided I needed to find something else to do while Lucy slept in my lap.  So, yeah, I crochet.  And I am impatient.  Cowl neck scarf – the four hour project – we are pals.  Stick around and maybe I will send you one if your neck looks particularly cold.

I wish I had more time this morning but I am trying to get out the door.

You know when you do something that you kind of think is awesome but you aren’t sure if it is totally absurd.  You’re not embarrassed exactly, but you’re not sure if people that know you would think “Oh, that is strange.  You don’t really do that, do you?”  When I was fourteen I bought a hot pink swing dress and purple polka-dotted tights to wear to my boyfriend’s graduation.  (It was 1991, it was a hot look.) Previously I had been seen in my overalls.  Pretty much every day.  I thought the dress was cute.  I thought it was kind of adorably Molly Ringwald-ish, actually. But I wondered if it was “me.”

I don’t work hard to stay in my “me” box.  But I think we all have a type.  Not long ago I was horrified when I realized I had Mom-hair but I owned it.  In fact, I declared myself to be the Samue L. Jackson of Motherhood and decided that in spite of my hair I was a bad motherfucker.

So, I am yammering on because I am not sure I can admit this.  I like to work out.  It keeps me from being totally mental.  I run.  I actually love p90x.  I am not afraid of the weight room and I don’t really wear “cute outfits” to the gym.  I like to get sweaty.  But this morning I am going to do something I have been talking about doing forever.  And I might get hysterical and get kicked out but I am going for it.  I am going to Zumba, guys.   Zumba bills itself as a sexy Jazzercise.  Take a minute to chew on that.  Sexy.  Jazzercise.  I hope they serve margaritas.  I am going to need one.  Or four.

So, a big fat “hello” and “happy to meet you” and “what took you so long let’s be best friends!” to the new readers.  I gotta jet.  Get my sweat on.  Oh, and shake my moneymaker. Because apparently when I am not busy being a bad motherfucker or crocheting I go to Zumba.  Sigh.  The latter half of my third decade is going to be weird.  I can feel it.

What’s in a Name?

source: onesmartbrotha.com seriously. that's my source.

We can’t all be Dwayne Wayne. Even the actor that played Dwayne Wayne on A Different World, Kadeem Hardison, had a pretty stellar name.

Dwayne Wayne was never invisible. He never got away with anything. Even the tiniest of actions were noticed and hijinx ensued. Remember when Dwayne ran for Student Concil President. The Reverend Jesse Jackson even noticed and came to visit Hillman College. He got attention. And it wasn’t just the glasses.

I don’t think I want to be quite as high profile as Dwayne Wayne.

But I wear glasses. And still, sometimes, I am invisible.

“Where are my pink shoes, Mom?”  “What’s for dinner, Mom?”  “Do I have PE today, Mom?”  “Great dinner, Mom.”  “Don’t forget to call and get a life insurance quote, Mom.”

Mom gets attention.  But sometimes it feels like no one sees me.

When MQD and I were dating  he started calling me Mom. It was cute. I liked it.  He was acknowledging that Mom was who I am, and that he was okay with it, and he understood it (the best he could.) When Em decided she was going to start calling him Dad I followed suit. It’s easier to change your name if everyone in the house joins in.

And now we have a new baby in the house so there is an awful lot of sickeningly sweet “Can you see your Daddy?” “You look just like Mommy…”

I think for a lot of couples some of the most intimate moments are spent in bed. Not like that. But staring at the ceiling. Or in the dark. When you can speak your mind and no one can see your face. Eye contact becomes unnecessary when you are moments from falling asleep. The trust is implied.

With a newborn in the house sleep is at a premium and pillow talk is non-existent. But we find the time. Lucy is settling in to her own routine. After Em goes to bed she will give us about ten minutes of smiling at the ceiling fan. Occasionally we even get a few minutes on a Saturday afternoon.

This weekend Em was out and about and MQD and I were on a “mini-date.” “Mini-date” is marital code for let’s have a conversation and not screw around on our phones while we talk.  We get the intimacy that we used to get in those late night conversations  on the floor with our two month old instead of in the sack.  But I’ll take it where I can get it.

So, we were on the floor in the living room with Lucy Goose, making faces. Talking, laughing. MQD said something stereotypically female and chuckled. And then in case I had not seen the hilarity in his comment he added “That’s what it’s like talking to you.”

“Yeah. But I’m not a lesbian, you can’t act like that. There’s one girl in this relationship.”

And without a moment’s hesitation he added “No. There’s three girls in this relationship.” Not in our family. He said in our relationship.

And that is how it should be for now. Our family dynamic has changed. And now our relationship must evolve to include all three girls, I suppose.

In the moment I kissed him (and wrote down this conversation in my phone quickly.)

But later it stung. I don’t want there to be three girls in our relationship. Not all of the time anyway.  Sometimes I want to be his girl.  His only girl.

A long time ago be said “you look hot, Mom” and I felt my knees crumble. He like-liked me. And he loved me for who I was. Seven years my junior this adorable 25 year old boy he really liked me.

Years later those seven years don’t seem like a very big deal.

And Mom? Now she wants to be Kelly again. “Can you do me a favor? When it has nothing to do with either of our kids can you please call me by my name?”

That poor guy can’t win.  But he rolls with it.  First I wanted him to fall in love with Mom. Now I want him to see Kelly again. It shouldn’t matter what he calls me. He tells me dinner was good every night. And that he loves me every morning.

Later that night he tossed it back at me “Thanks, Kel.” And I smiled.

It’s just a name.

But Mom is never going to wear those sick heels in the back of her closet. And Mom is totally never going to fit in those leather pants.  Mom actually wants to know what exactly is an occasion to which one might need to wear leather pants.  But Kelly is going to wear those heels.  And dammit, she’s gonna wear them with those leather pants.  Anywhere she damn well pleases.  Soon.

Now to decide on my glasses.

The Perfect Accessory. And the whole "I can read street signs and see the TV" is a nice bonus.