Unfrump my Mom

To Topknot or not to Topknot

2012-02-15T09:19:00.000-08:00

Apparently the new quick updo of choice among the stylish set is the topknot. Like, all your hair on top of your head in a knot. And when I say top, I mean TOP. I'd seen it on J Lo, or in magazines, but then lo and behold a very stylish mom friend of mine showed up one day wearing all her hair pulled tight and right on top of her head. And she looked fabulous! So I've been experimenting with topknots and I'm kind of digging them. I think it makes you look younger because you pull your hair so tight that you get a mini eye lift. And it somehow seems more fashionable than a ponytail, though I have no idea why. Maybe just because it's different. I wore one yesterday and a mom friend of mine told me I looked like a Charlie's Angel. And I don't think she was kidding. Considering I had not showered and had slept less than 5 hours the night before, I'm thinking it was all about the topknot. Anyways, it's super easy and looks even better with unwashed hair (thus the perfect hairdo for moms.) Here's a pic of how it should look (this is NOT me, unfortunately):

I'm just ignoring January

2012-02-02T11:37:00.000-08:00

My last six weeks in three words:

Holidays, stomach flu, Disneyland.

It was 66% fun. But all very busy and therefore here I am, with no posts to go under the cute little January button on the right of my blog.

On a brighter note (literally), please take a look at my new purse.

In case you can't tell from the picture, that stripe down the center is neon orangey pink. I love it. It's making me want to paint a neon orangey pink stripe down everything—my minivan, my cell phone, my husband. Honestly, what in life wouldn't be better with a neon orangey pink stripe?

Also, my son won't poop in the potty, but he WILL poop in his diaper, remove it, and try to clean his own rear. So I'm spending lots of time running around my house sniffing the air like a bloodhound in case he's left any remnants anywhere. I think I'll add him to the list of things I'd like to paint a neon orangey pink stripe on.

Best prayer ever

2011-12-12T21:27:00.000-08:00

Verbatim from my almost three-year old at prayer time tonight.

I pray for:

Special agent Lincoln (himself)

Special agent Miller (his sister)

Special agent Mama

Special agent Dada

Special agent Rosie (our bulldog)

Tinkerbell

Amen.

Did you know?

2011-12-08T11:37:00.000-08:00

That when you're cold, wrestling with blankets is just silly? That you can enjoy down time with pets or raid the refrigerator while looking like the missing fifth Teletubbie? That you can go to the big game in your own personal giant pink fleece womb? That you can take a crap through a hole in a wearable blanket?

Now you do. Thanks to Forever Lazy, and my fabulous friend Katherine, who alerted me to this troubling phenomenon.

Your Christmas shopping just got a whole lot easier.

Giving Thanks

2011-11-25T11:14:00.001-08:00

For:

My kids who make me laugh while infuriating me, teach me while I'm teaching them, fill my heart while emptying my wallet, and make me happier and sleepier than I've ever been

My husband who is the kind of guy who will notice when I'm at my wit's end, and wisely and wonderfully make me a hot bath complete with bubbles, candles and a big, cold glass of chardonnay perched on the side of the tub

My friends and family and the friends that seem like family and the family that are wonderful friends

A world that seems crazy most of the time, but is actually filled with beautiful things and people if you squint your eyes and look at it the right way

A brain that works most of the time, a body that only hurts occasionally and wrinkles that mean I've learned a thing or two

You people who come on here and read my random blurbs and sometimes even tell me you like them

A snuggly dog, my minivan, viognier and starbucks cappuccinos

A trip to the Portland Zoo

2011-11-17T10:09:00.000-08:00

We love Portland. Really, really love it. In fact, we go there about once a year just because we love it so much and it doesn't hurt that it's cheap. On our most recent trip, we had just hit up the insanely good Stumptown Coffee shop in the insanely cool Ace Hotel when I saw this mom.

I was swooning. Portland is so cool! Moms push strollers while wearing skirts and shorty boots! And drinking artisanal coffee in hip hotel lobbies! Why can't my town be more like this?

Then we went to the zoo. (Which is awesome, by the way.) And there we saw some major frump frolicking in its natural habitat.

The Pacific Northwestern Ponchopotamus:

The Long Denim-Skirted Frumpaphant:

And the Red Socked Frumpy Bird:

Portland is still cool. It's just not frump-free.

Look what I got in my email today

2011-10-11T12:05:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure what's more disturbing, the existence of this product in the first place, or the fact that I fit someone's spam profile that makes them think I might want it.

Have you ever, ever put on your jeans and thought, dang I wish these felt like PJs? Have you ever, ever put on your PJs and thought dang I wish these looked like jeans? I mean, these are totally separately functioning wardrobe items. You want your jeans to be tight in the right places if you want them to look good. You want your jammies not to look like something in which you could jump out of bed and hit the local singles bar. Right?

Let's look at the ad for a moment. Did you notice that Pajama Jeans come with 1 Grey Crewneck Tee? I mean, I could open my husband's t-shirt drawer and find about 12 of those right now. If you are running around in a Grey Crewneck Tee and Pajama Jeans, please get off my blog right now.

Now let's take a peek at the checked boxes. This is a flagrant overuse of red checks. I'll give you soft and comfortable, but I take major umbrage with stylish and sexy.

"Perfect for exercise shopping & more." I'm wondering, since there is a noticeable lack of commas in this sentence, if they mean it's perfect for "exercise shopping?" Like those ladies that go to the mall in frumpy clothes and speed walk around it? If so, then I suppose I agree. And when they say "& more", I'm assuming they mean "accessorizing with socks and tevas" because that's pretty much their target market.

Forever 38

2011-10-05T22:40:00.000-07:00

I've been putting off this post for a long time. I'm not sure why, maybe because I am embarrassed about what I'm about to admit, or maybe because I want everyone to harbor some sort of fantasy that I shop at fancy places. (Who am I kidding, I drive a fucking minivan.)

Ok.

I deeply, majorly, hugely love Forever 21.

In fact, one of my favorite alone outings is to head to the mall, grab a no-whip mocha at Starbucks (a treat I only allow myself on special occasions) and head up the escalator to F21. It is akin to what some people must feel when they go to flea markets. I love flea markets, but I can never get my ass up early enough to get to one (nor can I figure out what to do with my children while I go.) Because you have to do some damn good sifting to find stuff at F21 that isn't a) made for 8 year olds, b) about to fall apart, or c) highly flammable. That's ok! I feel like it's part of the rush. Because when you do find that one thing, that fabulous thing that looks like you bought it at Saks (if you squint your eyes or don't wear your contacts), and you look at the price tag and it says $14.99, it's like winning the lottery.

Shirts. Dresses. Scarves. Jewelry. Purses. Sweatshirts. I have done it all at F21, with the exception of pants. Sorry, but when your ass is over 35, it requires you to kick down more than $18 to make it look good.

A word of caution: TRY ON EVERYTHING. I can't even imagine who the fit model is for this brand -- a six foot tall preteen? A post-op transvestite? You never know what it's going to look like on, especially if you have boobs. Also, just ignore the tweens giving you weird looks. They will WISH they are as cool as you in oh, 30-odd years.

Um.

2011-09-29T22:41:00.000-07:00

Yeah.

No.

Dear Target,

2011-09-20T10:07:00.000-07:00

I know you've got this whole "Design for all" thing, which I think is brilliant in concept. But clearly, you're lacking a little on the execution. Suffice to say, I'm now calling Missoni, the fabulous, zig-zaggy Italian design brand, Miss-out-i.

I'm sad. And light on zig zags.

M.O.M. (Mom-item of the Moment)

2011-09-04T09:15:00.000-07:00

Ugly shoes suck. And I see so, so many of them in momdom. I feel like it's my personal mission in life to prove to moms that shoes can be cute, comfortable AND cheap. Voila, exhibit A:These go with everything and have a little edgy flair thanks to the double ankle straps. And they are less than $20. Need I say more? These are from Urban Outfitters. You can buy them here.

Nailed.

2011-09-02T23:24:00.000-07:00

I was holding my daughter today when I felt her sly little fingers in my armpit. My kids know that it is NOT OK to tickle mama, especially under the arms. This has to do with some extreme childhood tickling and possibly even some loss of bladder control, but that's neither here nor there. Bottom line is, I said, "Please stop." And she said, "Why?" And I said, "Because you know mama does not like to be tickled." And she said, "I'm not tickling you, I'm just PLAYING WITH YOUR HAIR."

The caps are mine, not hers. Because I deserve them.

Clarification, Preschool-style

2011-08-25T11:39:00.000-07:00

My daughter (almost 5): Mama, your hair smells like poop.

Me: Excuse me? That's not very nice.

Her: Sorry. I meant garbage.

My 6 Favorite Letters

2011-08-25T11:31:00.000-07:00

Every so often, I need to be reminded that I am an adult. In these desperate times, I turn to two sources, for very different reasons.

My kids may be handing me boogers from the back seat of the minivan, or demanding "warm apple cider, not cold, not hot, WARM" or peeing on the back lawn (their new favorite activity), but for a few minutes, I am either a) an intelligent, educated person capable of discussing issues in the middle east or someone's latest novel or b) rolling around in a shitstorm of celebrity drama. Either way, I'm transported. And I love it.

You Will Be Safe, Dammit

2011-08-18T10:06:00.000-07:00

I'm all for child safety. My almost five-year-old daughter still sits in a full car seat despite the fact that she's weighed over 40 pounds since she was three. I own life vests for my daughter, my son, and yes, even my dog. (Bulldogs can't swim. Short arm/fat body syndrome.) BUT THIS IS RIDICULOUS.

What do you think is keeping him safer? The no less than 10 flotation devices strapped to his tiny little frame or the fact that no one will get near him because he looks like a mini suicide bomber? Maybe that can be his Halloween costume this year.

Yes, I know that's a terrible thing to say. But this is a terrible thing to do to a child. Oh, the humanity.

My own personal ghostbuster

2011-07-21T10:15:00.000-07:00

My husband went out of town earlier this week (he's back now, so any potential stalkers out there can just put your machetes away and bug off). The very first night he was gone, my two year old son crawled into my bed at about 2 in the morning. Ok, fine, that's par for the course, plus I kind of like the whole night time snuggle thing, especially knowing that one day I'm going to turn around and he'll be 6 feet tall and smelling like gym socks. Normally, he just snuggles up and goes back to sleep, sometimes aided by ambien, I mean milk. This time however, just to insure that his mother got very little sleep for the next few nights, he puts his tiny, chubby little face mere inches away from mine and whispers PERFECTLY CLEARLY:

"Mama, there's a ghost in the house."

Did you just get goosebumps? I think all my hairs were standing on end, including my unshaved leg and armpit ones. I mean, this is a kid that is still getting the hang of the whole talking thing. He's only recently started putting together somewhat cohesive sentences. It was like someone swapped out my toddler with a mini version of Haley Joel Osment. Obviously, I assured him that ghosts aren't real and there were none in my house, but the whole time my mind was flashing on men in hockey masks and girls hiding under the bed barfing green stuff.

Thanks a lot, dude. Needless to say, I consumed a fair amount of chardonnay while my hubby was away. But to be fair, I do that when he's home, too.

Two Good Reasons for a Three-Way Mirror

2011-07-15T14:09:00.000-07:00

One word: Yikes.
Two words: Smuggling meatloaf.
Three words: Check all angles.
Four words: Buy some bigger pants.

All Growns Up

2011-07-02T19:13:00.000-07:00

There are a few things that are clueing me in to the fact that my almost-five-year-old girl is definitely growing up. First, she can swim. Second, she can ride a bike. Third, she beats the snot out of me at Mario Kart, and I am a closet gamer.

But I think she put the nail in the coffin last night when, apropos of nothing, she walked up to me and said:

Her: "Mama, want to know what the real question is?"

Me: "Yeah. What is it?"

Her: *long loud fart*

I mean, that's a set up not even her father has come up with in his 39 years on the planet. And I'm not sure who was prouder, him or her. I was, and still am, shaking my head. And maybe laughing but trying to hide it.

My Fair Frumpy

2011-06-16T18:17:00.000-07:00

You know, this picture says so much for itself that it seems almost silly and certainly redundant to comment. I guess I'll just keep it to the basics:

1. This is a woman.

2. Those are tattoos. I'm sure there are plenty more I can't see, for which I thank the Lord.

3. This is at the county fair. I could have posted one picture a day for a year from one event alone.

4. It is to the benefit of your eyeballs and your psyche that this picture is as blurry as it is.

I have a beef

2011-05-25T22:03:00.000-07:00

Actually, I have many beefs. (Beeves?) But the one that's currently rubbing me sideways is this:

I know these are very popular, but at first glance, it looks to me like, "People I've Run Over With My Car". Then once I see that it's in fact a caricature of your family, and that you have three children (one of whom plays soccer and one who likes to swim) and two dogs (one of whom chews a frisbee), I think to myself:

Why? Why do I need to know this about you?

I'm happy for you, but I'm not sure why I, as a fellow person on the road, need this particular information. I'd much rather know how many tickets you have on your record and whether or not you are currently on any medication. Can you please put this information on a cute little sticker in your back window?

A story by my daughter

2011-05-23T19:26:00.000-07:00

...who is 4 1/2. It starts all fine and normal, and then eventually trainwrecks. Which sounds a lot like our life these days. Enjoy.

Once upon a time, there was a sponge named Sponge Bob Squarepants. One day, he went to his pineapple under the sea and said, “Can Miller and her friends come over?” And Miller and Lincoln and Mama and Dada came there, and Candyman and Candygirl and all their friends. They all played. Then they went to Miller’s house and all had a sleepover. Then they went to sleep. In the morning they woke up and played in Miller’s room. They played with Miller’s remote control car and Candyman and Candygirl made a special remote control car. Kaitlin and Joshua had an idea. They all wanted to play. Everyone cheered and clapped and roared and cheered and clapped and roared again forever and for once and they did it in Eskimo style for 88 cents. Then they all 78 cents all and for once. And every day they went to a parade and a bouncy house. And they lived like everything else but Nemo but there was one problem. Which house was an acorn? And seahorses backa backa. That means they sneeze. So they went forward and backward in their car and they all sleeped again in the Elliott’s house. Then the Eskimos came into the snow and everyone HRJALH489.

THE END

One of the many reasons I love my husband...

2011-05-12T08:14:00.000-07:00

We were exiting church on Sunday and I saw a license plate on a big fancy Mercedes that said, "SKORPNS". I looked at him and said, "So, do you think the guy who drives this car likes the Scorpions?" And without so much as a beat, he replied, "Either that, or he likes to score penis."

Four days later, I'm still laughing out loud every time I think about it.

Ain't It Funny

2011-05-07T20:29:00.000-07:00

My days are not my own.

My time is not my own.

My schedule is not my own.

My home is not my own.

My room is not my own.

My bed is certainly not my own.

My body is not my own.

My TV is not my own.

My phone is not my own.

My car is not my own (I mean, hell, it's a minivan.)

These days, pretty much nothing in my life is my own. And yet, I have everything I could ever need.

Happy Mother's Day!

One Yes, Two No's

2011-05-05T09:50:00.000-07:00

We were in LA over Easter for a whirlwind, family-full few days. In general, I feel like LA has less frump per capita than here in NorCal. Maybe it's the sunny weather, the profusion of cameras, or the proximity to Hollywood. Take, for example:

Check out the cute boots! The slouchy sweater! The adorable and bright bag that holds tons of stuff but isn't heinous! Yeah, for the record, this is Ashlee Simpson. She was in front of us in line for a train ride and I had to snap a pic. I know, I know, she's a celebrity with lots of available time and money which certainly helps in the quest to unfrump, but this look is definitely attainable AND it looks comfortable. I was VERY impressed, not something I have ever before found myself saying about Ashlee Simpson.

And then there's the flip side. Or shall I say dark side:

Thank god these people at least put aside their extreme love for black and denim when dressing their child. What you don't see is the flourescent pink lanyard around dad's neck that I believe was holding a pen. In case anyone asked the Dad of Darkness for an autograph.

And one more:

So this whole bohemian maxidress/long skirt thing is making a comeback and I'm not sure what I think of this trend yet. But I do know one things: THIS IS NOT THE WAY TO WEAR IT. With a hoodie. And crocs. With socks. And a husband wearing a grown-up boy scout uniform. Ok? Ok.

Bite Me, Tevas

2011-04-16T13:49:00.001-07:00

The weather is getting warmer, which means it's time to be on high Teva alert. I've created a little compilation of shoes that are acceptable substitutes. While I haven't tried them on, I can be pretty positive that all the shoes below are comfortable. All are park-friendly. And, with the exception of the insane Missoni espadrilles and Tory Burch patent ballet flats (which are totally worth the money if you have it stuffed in your mattress), almost all are less than $100, and most are less than $50. No, no, you can't wear any of them in your local riverbed. For that, I SUPPOSE you can strap on your Tevas. Just please make sure to shave your toes first.

Bite Me, Tevas by Unfrump My Mom featuring a red dress

Granted, it was hot.

2011-04-06T22:19:00.000-07:00

Barefoot in the grass is one thing. But barefoot in the tanbark? Grody.

Life on the B list

2011-03-28T10:54:00.000-07:00

In my convalescence, I picked up a few glossy magazines to keep me company. US Weekly, in particular. Per usual, Kendra Wilkinson was there on the cover with some new family drama. This one, I believe, was about how their marriage is on the skids—not to be confused with last week's story, which I believe was that they are madly in love and planning to have another baby. I am so confused by these people... with their celebrity in the first place, and with their desperation to stay in the public eye. Here's how I imagine their conversations go at home:

K (whining): We haven't been on the cover of US Weekly in like, a week!

H: That's because it's a weekly magazine, sugarlips.

K: What does that have to do with anything? We need a story, stat. How about I call them up and tell them we want to have another baby, then they'll run a headline on the cover that says "Another baby for Kendra" and people will buy the magazine to find out the details, only to learn we're just HOPING for another baby. I love that one. Mwaaa haa haa hee hee.

H: Pretty sure we did that last week.

K: Hmph. Ok. Then how about I say I'm leaving you?

H: Are you?

K: If it gets me on the cover of US Weekly, then sure. But don't take it personally.

H: How about we just skip a week and see what happens.

K: Oh great. I'm going to have to start flashing strangers my boobies again, aren't I?

I'm totally on drugs right now

2011-03-24T12:39:00.001-07:00

I had to have surgery last week to remove a uterine fibroid. The downside? It hurts. The upside? I have plenty of drugs, and I have gotten more sleep in one week than I've gotten in the last 5 years. You know you're a mom when you start singing the praises of surgery in order to get some rest. So, if you're like 100% of the moms I know and you need a good solid week of sleep, I recommend immediately growing a grapefruit-sized fibroid in your uterus.

(For those of you who know me and are counting, yes, this is the third surgery in our household in a year. And next month our bulldog has to have surgery on her VULVA. Yes, my dog is having vaginal rejuvenation. It's because she has chronic UTIs but, honestly. Somebody please make it stop.)

Hell Met

2011-03-12T20:38:00.001-08:00

Have you heard the story about the woman that was shopping at Old Navy when a giant chunk of the ceiling fell out of the sky and hit her in the head, killing her instantly?

No, neither have I. But I'm really hoping, for her sake, that this woman did.

Rapunzel, Rapuzel, Let Down Your Frump

2011-03-08T07:20:00.000-08:00

I'm hoping that the reason her head is in her hand is because she's thinking, "Oh crap. I forgot to cut my hair for the last 20 years. And I left the house again in my terribly unflattering ankle-length denim skirt and UGGs. Damn, I need to start taking more gingko biloba."

Thank you Kristen, for this most excellent frump submission!

Poonut Butter

2011-03-03T09:17:00.001-08:00

We had a first in our household yesterday.

I've always heard stories like this from my mom friends, and have kind of smugly and silently patted myself on the back for having children that don't do this kind of thing. Until now.

This is how it went down.

My 4 year old daughter and 2 year old son were sitting on the couch—she playing a game on my computer and he watching contentedly. I was sitting nearby reading a book—something that happens during the day about as often as a lunar eclipse—and feeling like the best mom ever. More smugness.

Suddenly, my daughter says, "Mom! Lincoln put peanut butter on the computer!"

I start to get up calmly to grab a paper towel, when it dawns on me that:

HE DOESN'T HAVE ANY PEANUT BUTTER.

Yes, that's right. My son tapped into his inner primate and decided to do a little exploring in his diaper. Needless to say, he found something there that interested him. Poonut butter. And transferred it to my computer.

I'm still getting the odd body shiver. And no longer feeling remotely smug about my parenting skills.

Kids Remember Everything

2011-02-19T12:00:00.000-08:00

Don't you want to be the kind of mom whose children would some day submit your retro picture to the "My Mom The Style Icon" website? Instead of the mom whose children remember you for your seemingly endless supply of grey sweatpants and Tevas? I do. It's a new goal for me.

This blog makes me think of some of the clothes my mom used to wear when I was little. They were pretty sweet. I remember lots of big-collared silk shirts and polyester pants in bright colors. Oh, and patterned headscarves! It was the 70's after all. I don't recall her ever really having sweats, except for in the 80's, and they were bedazzled. She wore them with her bedazzled tennis shoes from Nordstrom (heinous now, cool then). And I'm proud to say she never pronounced her rear end as being "PINK" nor "JUICY." Both terribly gross things for a rear end to be in my opinion, though plenty of otherwise sane people seem to want to make such statements.

Think about it. What will your children remember about your style when they're older? It's pretty good motivation to take a shower now and then...

No I Am Not Pregnant

2011-02-15T11:27:00.001-08:00

But I kind of want to be, because of these Bashful Bump Maternity Bodysuits:

WHY DIDN'T I KNOW ABOUT THESE THINGS WHEN I WAS PREGNANT? I swear that my pregnancy-related carpal tunnel probably had as much to do with my constantly trying to cover my bulging front (and back) as it did with my circulation. I actually still might get one, since I'm pretty sure that I flash my undies to the street behind me every time I have to lean into my minivan too far. I actually have very fond memories of my college-era bodysuit, which I wore under everything. It might just be time to relive those days, albeit with less Keystone Light.

They are beautiful, functional, and made by a fellow mom (so you know they work.) If you are currently gestating, you have no reason not to buy one, two or ten. You can do it here.

Suiting Up

2011-02-07T14:48:00.000-08:00

I have a question.

What exactly is the appropriate swimwear for baby/mommy swim class in a steaming indoor pool swarming with other mothers and children? Seems to me that there are VERY few options out there. Here's a glimpse at what I'm currently seeing:

1. The Straight-Up Mom Suit

Think LL Bean. This is probably the most prevalent, and also the most depressing. I am all for not showing too much skin, but these suits are like the reverse of sexy. They're like a sexy vacuum. Not that anyone should be trying to be sexy at swim class, but somehow I think just owning one of these suits will mean you will have 25% less sex per year.

2. The Slightly Inappropriate Suit

Think Victoria Secret. This is the opposite problem. Usually these suits are on bodies that can pull it off, and believe me I applaud that, but it's a little disconcerting to see quite so much skin when I'm trying to get my toddler to make a puffer fish face. Or it could be that I'm just jealous.

3. The Athletic Suit

Think Athleta. I get the catalogs for these companies and I think, "Hey, I like that swimsuit. The one on the girl playing volleyball/surfing/kayaking." Then I realize that I don't do any of these things, and that on me, the same suit might look an awful lot like The Straight Up Mom Suit.

4. The "I Used to be on the Swim Team" Suit

Think Speedo. I'm embarrassed to say this is the category of suit I currently wear. Mainly because of a lack of other options. It's the suit I wear when I swim at the gym, so it's also what I wear to my kid's swim class. It's also what the swim teachers wear, so I convince myself that I'm just wearing the appropriate uniform. It's a problem.

Help.

M.O.M. (Mom-item of the Moment)

2011-01-26T14:31:00.001-08:00

I'm starting to think that the headquarters of Benefit Cosmetics is peopled entirely by exhausted, underslept mothers. Because they keep coming out with stuff like this, which is my new favorite thing:

It's like concealer on hardcore steroids. You know how most concealer is skin-colored? This is like a light pink color, so when you put it on, at first it looks like you've put white-out on under your eyes. It REALLY covers. And once you get a little makeup and bronzer on, the pink goes away and you are left with eyes that look like they did before you had kids. (Minus the crows feet and frown lines.) Add a can of Red Bull to the mix and you may fool everyone into thinking you're actually sleeping at night.

You can buy it here.

Pure awesomeness at Starbucks

2011-01-15T10:35:00.000-08:00

Can you see it? Can you feel the magic? Maybe you think you're seeing things, as did I, when I witnessed this outfit phenomenon in person. But no, that IS a sequin caftan worn over sweats and tennis shoes. It truly, truly is. I can't make this shit up.

You know how they have bark collars for dogs?

2011-01-06T21:39:00.000-08:00

Years ago, I used to dogsit for an Australian Blue Heeler named Jack. His owners instructed me to put a bark collar on him when he was in the backyard that shocked him if he barked above a certain decibel. It felt so inhumane, because the minute I would snap that thing around his neck he would start doing this weird hoarse whisper bark—like he couldn't control his urge to bark, only his volume. (He also humped my leg feverishly but there wasn't a collar for that particular part of his body.) Lately though, I'm starting to wish there was such a thing as a scream collar for my two year old son. This guy screams constantly—when he wants something, when he doesn't want something, when someone comes near something he wants, when he falls, when I leave the room, when I'm right next to him. When he wakes up from a nap, he usually screams for about the next hour and a half, while I offer him every vice I can think of (Bottle? TV? Video game? Juice? Cigarette? Staple gun?) until he gets distracted by something totally random, like a dog toy, and suddenly turns all smiles while I'm slapping my forearm looking for a good vein in which to insert the chardonnay drip. And lately, he's screaming his little blond head off at night unless I STAND IN THE ROOM WHILE HE FALLS ASLEEP. MInd you, this is no ordinary scream. It's the kind of scream where his voice starts shredding. It's a "I'm being eaten alive by fire ants" scream. It produces gushing streams of mucous and sometimes even vomit. It's horrible. Of course, all I want is to comfort him and make him happy, so I do whatever I can, but I swear it's taking years off my life. The only benefit I can possibly think of is that maybe, just maybe, with all the hand- teeth- and butt-clenching that it's causing in me, I'm building some muscle tone. I mean, gotta find hope somewhere.

I vow to do less in 2011

2011-01-06T10:40:00.000-08:00

This year, my resolutions are all about doing less. But I'm not letting myself off the hook here. It's actually much harder to do less than it is to do more. More is about energy, less is about restraint. And while I'm not exactly rolling in either one of those right now, I feel like my life could use more of the latter. So, without further ado, in 2011 I vow to:

Expect less
Consume less
Stress less
Rush less
Yell less
Weigh less
Criticize less
Compare less
Frown less (as a bonus, this will help with wrinkles)
Worry less
Be hard on myself less
Crank less
Frump less

but of course...

Blog more.

And now back to my regularly scheduled wine

2011-01-05T06:43:00.000-08:00

Oof. In the past two and a half weeks, I have:

Seen my husband through his second major abdominal surgery in less than a year

Sprouted two huge chin zits that came back from the dead three times

Discovered that my son no longer wants to sleep in his crib

Barely slept

Drank nearly lethal amounts of coffee

Had a Merry Christmas

Not blogged or tweeted or any other newfangled technical term

Felt blessed that we are all healthy despite my husband's rather large scar and my right twitching eyeball.

Cracked

2010-12-13T14:18:00.000-08:00

The Daisy Dukes with kneesocks and boots.

The kneesocks and boots themselves.

The side ponytail.

The fuzzy yellow makeup tote used as a purse.

All perplexing, yes. But the most disturbing part of it all?

We were on our way into The Nutcracker.

What's wrong with being sexy?

2010-12-07T22:35:00.000-08:00

My sweet and thoughtful husband recently came home from a trip to the store with this magazine for me:

Because A) I was sick and in need of mentally unchallenging reading material and B) he thought it would be good fodder for my blog. I was torn -- I don't even know who this woman is and it peeves me to no end that she keeps stealing perfectly good media space away from MUCH more important stories (Lindsay Lohan? Brad and Angie? Michael Jackson conspiracy theories??) BUT, here is she is saying something of real importance -- "Can't a mom be sexy?" Wow, she's speaking my language! Ok, Kendra Whoeveritson of dubious fame, bring it on. Let's hear what you have to say. Maybe we have viewpoints in common.

Fast forward to the article. Early on, she talks about her husband's uptight attitudes, "He definitely doesn't like the flashing." (That would be flashing other men at clubs.) Also, he doesn't like that she's considering posing for Playboy. And the whole sex tape thing, well, that was a bit of a bump in the marriage too. Her response? "I'm going to go out and shake my butt and have a good time. I'm not a nun." But hey -- "Can't a mom be sexy?"

Apparently moms, you have two choices. Donning a habit, or flashing random men. I always did like The Sound of Music.

Unlike Mother, Unlike Daughter

2010-12-02T13:53:00.000-08:00

The feet on the left with the cute ballet flats and pleated skirt belong to a nine-year old girl, who is clearly not getting fashion tips from mom feet on the right. Apparently post-pedicure thongs now come in leather?

My daughter, the perp-in-training

2010-11-20T20:40:00.000-08:00

The following was a conversation I had with my 4-year-old daughter while she was sitting next to her not-quite-two-year-old brother, watching television.

Her: Mommy, look! He put his booger on his leg all by himself!

(I check out the situation and, sure enough, my son has a slimy green booger stuck to the underside of his thigh, which seems like an odd place for him to put a booger. Not to mention that he hasn't quite gotten the hang of nosepicking yet.)

Me: Are you sure that's not your booger?

Her: (not missing a beat) I think he grabbed my booger and put it on his leg.

Me: Are you sure you didn't put your own booger on his leg?

Her: (again, instantly) I don't remember.

Should I be troubled, or proud?

What a drag

2010-11-11T18:26:00.001-08:00

This blog rarely goes very deep. It's usually some combination of kids, fashion—the bad and the good—and mom craziness. I keep it light because that's how I get through all of the above. That said, I read a post recently on another blog that went straight to my heart. As a mom whose daughter wants Lightning McQueen on everything she wears, including her underwear (so I buy her boys briefs and let her rock it out), and whose son who loves nothing more than donning his sisters unworn princess dress and dancing spins around the living room, I applaud this mom wholeheartedly. And in a world with so much wrong, it's disheartening to think that anyone, much less a mother, would judge a kid's self-expression.

Without further ado, here is the post. And come to think of it, it IS about kids, fashion and mom craziness after all.

Dad Life

2010-11-05T16:47:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine recently shared this video with me and I think it is pure gold. Dads can be frumpy too—I mean, we've all had our eyeballs burned at the park by hairy legs that end in black socks and Tevas. (Which just goes to show that Tevas are gender-agnostic frump.) This video is ALMOST as good as the Sienna "Swagger Wagon" videos which, if you haven't seen them, stop reading this right now and go straight to YouTube. Enjoy!

Smuggling Diapers

2010-11-01T15:08:00.000-07:00

It was an act of desperation.

We had just finished swim class, the two kids and I crowded in the bathroom, trying to rinse, dry off, and change without slipping on the floor or sticking to something disgusting. Once I had gotten my daughter and I together, I turned to deal with my slippery wet and totally naked son. I reached into the bag and.... OH CRAP. NO DIAPER.

I panicked, wondering for a moment if I could put his shorts on with nothing on underneath, only to remember that he seems to take the lack of a diaper as an open invitation to pee on anything he can. I knew I'd be dealing with a constant stream all the way to the car. Suddenly, I saw a nicely packed canvas bag emblazoned with the name PETER. I could tell just by looking at the outside of the bag that it was owned by the kind of mom who would never forget her son's diaper after swim class. (I, on the other hand, was carrying a reusable bag from the Apple Store with a rip in the top.) So I looked around and, seeing no one, rummaged though that bag wildly until I found a beautiful dry diaper. (Don't worry, there was more than one. Of course, because Peter's mom is organized.) I wish I could say I felt guilty, but instead I felt wickedly triumphant. Damn, I'm resourceful.

That said, I'll never forget a diaper after swim class again. Peter's mom might not be there to save my ass next time.

M.O.M. (Mom-item of the Moment)

2010-10-23T19:04:00.000-07:00

The washable scarf is a wonderful thing.

I've used mine for wiping noses and hands (gross but better than my pantleg), covering stains (my own), stuffing between a sleeping child's lolling head and the carseat headrest, and, oh yeah, brightening up a boring outfit. It's like throwing on a cute, colorful dishrag and having it be perfectly ok—stylish, even. There are many out there to choose from, and they're usually pretty cheap. Here's a cute one from Old Navy:

Go cuff yourself

2010-10-21T07:42:00.000-07:00

I'm a big believer in little accessories. I have a theory that all you need is a great pair of sunglasses and some decent footwear, and you can get away with pretty much anything in between. So you can imagine my delight when my super stylish cousin (and mother-of-three) came home from a recent trip to New York bearing this fabulous little number:

It's blingy without being gaudy, it's comfortable to wear, and it gives anything I wear it with a major upgrade. (In fact, I'm currently rocking it with the waffle knit shirt I slept in, some yoga pants and a sweater.) And it doesn't hurt that I'm told it was purchased mere minutes after a Soho sighting of Kim Kardashian. I asked: yes, it's that big in real life. And apparently her skin is a study in perfection. Not that anyone is paying attention.

I love my new cuff. I wish I could direct you to this exact one. Alas, I haven't been able to find one like it online, but here's another nice option from Garnet Hill. Click here to go directly to it on their website.

I may run off with my Podiatrist

2010-10-18T14:51:00.000-07:00

I've been having foot pain for oh, a year or so and, until recently, had yet to do anything about it for fear that the rest of my life would be spent in (heaven forbid) flats or (shudder) corrective footwear. However, the pain finally asserted itself to the point that I made my very first appointment with a podiatrist. Feeling every single one of my 37 years, I dutifully put on my flat sandals and headed in for my sentencing. He came in (and by the way, was kind of hot), looked at my feet, asked me a few questions, and then uttered these five beautiful words, "YOU SHOULD NOT WEAR FLATS." I almost looked around for the hidden camera. What? An attractive podiatrist putting me under doctor's orders to wear heeled shoes? How much better does it get? The downside is that apparently my calves and achilles are so tight (partially genetic, partially from all these years of my beloved heels) that I could end up doing some damage. So I have to do physical therapy and stretches and wear a boot thing at night and blah blah blah. BUT. I now have a MEDICAL need for heeled footwear. Think my insurance will pick up a pair of Manolos for me?

Just Don't Do It

2010-09-30T09:40:00.000-07:00

A+ for hitting the elliptical machine.
D- for doing it in denim.

Yes, those are denim capris. It's like the direct opposite of wicking material. Did I mention that it was about 99 degrees that day? Think maybe she just changed her shoes and popped back to the office after her workout? I would hate to be this woman's cubicle mate.

M.O.M. (Mom-item of the Moment)

2010-09-28T13:21:00.000-07:00

Thanks to two friends who gently reminded me recently that I hadn't posted on here in OVER A MONTH (thank you Jenny and Kayla!) I am re-committing to my posting ways and even adding a new feature - the Mom-item of the Moment (or M.O.M.). I am always seeing things in stores or online that I feel would be great, unfrumpy additions to anyone's closets, but especially moms and most especially mine. While I can't always buy whatever I want, I can certainly blog about it, and maybe someone else will benefit! So, speaking of Madewell, here is my very first M.O.M. (I'll try to keep these relatively inexpensive, what with college to pay for someday and all...)

Cute, comfy, unique and less than $50. I love the burnout thing that's going on, I love the color that would mask most child-related emissions, and I really love the buttons on the sleeves. Take that, Beefy-T.

You can find this shirt here.

WWJCD?

2010-09-26T20:48:00.000-07:00

And by JC I mean, of course, J. Crew.

Sometimes while I'm standing in front of my closet, woefully uninspired, I ask myself, "What would J. Crew do?" Throw on a stained t-shirt and yoga pants? Never. It helps get me past those moments of weakness.

And yes, I know that most human beings (especially those of us with boobs) can't put seven layers on without looking like H.R. Pufnstuf. But it's inspirational to see how they style things, the unexpected combinations they put together, the cool and unstuffy jewelry they layer on. All I'm saying is, I'm listening.

And while we're on the subject, do you know about Madewell? It's J. Crew's newest line, a little more casual, a little less expensive - in other words, a little more mom. Yes PLEASE.

Reflections of a Newly Minted Stay at Home Mom

2010-08-28T20:27:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm about two months into this new gig of mine, and it has been—well, everything. Wonderful, exhausting, rewarding, frustrating, brain-melting, challenging, joyous and all-consuming. I've fished my son out of a toilet, bought four new iPhone apps for my daughter, renewed my pregnancy carpal-tunnel issues and found pure joy in the occasional Starbucks run. A hell of a lot different from my life as a San Francisco advertising writer, but I've found that what's bad for my wardrobe is good for my soul. And I'm totally fine with that.

Many of my friends have asked me how the transition has been, and it's hard to find an answer that sums it all up. As committed as I was as a mom while I was working, there's just no denying the fact that at the end of the week, I had racked up 40 hours or so of time that had nothing to do with my offspring—in heels, no less. That's not good or bad, right or wrong, it's just 180 degrees different from my life now. Now, I think it's stretching it to say that I may have 12 hours a week of time that's not spent dressing, feeding, teaching, shuttling, playing with and cleaning up the poop of my children. And heels? Please. At the end of the day, I'm exhausted and I often smell funny, but my heart is full. That's pretty much the best way to explain it.

That said, here are a few reflections of my new life...

Children are both the best company you'll ever have and the worst. They give you moments that are so much more funny and brilliant and insightful than even the most funny, brilliant and insightful adults, then they follow it up by pooping on your couch.

Who comes in and slows the clock down from the hours of 4:00 to 6:30? Seriously, stop that.

I think I have to take a bit of my own advice when it comes to frump—not to mention apologize for my soapbox stand on it when I was still working. NOT THAT I'M LETTING DOWN MY GUARD OR GIVING UP MY FIGHT!!! It's just a hell of a lot harder when you barely have time to shower much less blow dry much less make up. I'm thinking of inventing a Mom Mask that is some sort of snazzy looking thing you cover your entire face and hair with that makes you look good without having to do any of the above. Anyone with me?

WHY AM I TIRED ALL THE TIME? Not like normal tired. Like I've gone through some kind of military sleep deprivation torture.

I find myself thinking all the time about moms 50 years ago, or 100. Can you imagine? No cartoons, no computer, no microwave ovens, no Starbucks, no pre-packaged snack food, no minivans where you can control the world with your index finger. I can't decide if I'm horrified or kind of jealous.

My kids are magical. So are yours.

I go to bed at night with the weirdest aches in the weirdest places. Why does my right bicep hurt? Oh yeah, because my (30-lb) 19-month old only lets me carry him on that side, with that arm. Why is my left thigh burning? Oh yeah, horsie rides. Why is my forehead sore? Oh yeah, head butt. It goes on.

I can honestly say that I have moments every day—even the brutal ones—when I am awestruck by something. A new word, a funny comment, a spontaneous snuggle, or just the sight of a chubby hand or breathtakingly long eyelashes. Even on the best days, that never happened at work.

I'm not very good at housework. But I sing a mean Old MacDonald.

Until we meet again!

Tevas: Let's Discuss

2010-08-03T20:35:00.001-07:00

If you've read my blog much, you're probably aware that I have a personal vendetta against Tevas. Basically, I have the same reaction to Tevas that many people have to rodents—I want to stand up on the nearest chair and shriek when I see them. To be fair, I don't have a problem with the actual shoe, per se, just the fact that it's been woefully misappropriated from mountaineering to motherhood. And because it's summer, and I now spend inordinate amounts of time in public parks, I see them EVERYWHERE. So, I thought now would be as good a time as any to talk about just why I find them so perplexing. Let's begin with the fabric that makes up the outer part of the shoe. Inevitably, regardless of color or pattern, it looks like something that should be tied around someone's neck with a backstage pass to a Grateful Dead concert dangling from it. (And I love the Grateful Dead, but that's not a compliment.)

Now, the straps. What exactly, does the average suburban mom (or dad) have planned in a day that would require your entire ankle and foot to be locked into a 5-point anchor system? I mean, that's more secure than my children are in their respective carseats. Maybe we could just strap our infants into men's size 14 Tevas and call it a day. It would certainly be cheaper, if not more aesthetically pleasing. I'm sure there are times where one's foot needs this kind of security—say, white water rafting or waterfall diving—but I really don't think an afternoon run to Trader Joe's applies.

Lastly, the soles. Holy mother of corrective footwear, do our feet really need the same tread thickness as an SUV? Maybe it needs all that rubber to hold down the NASA-quality strap system. Again, perhaps it comes in handy while walking through pirahna-infested waters or razor-sharp volcanic rock, but hardly the tanbark at the local park.

Please, I beg of you, KEEP TEVAS IN THEIR NATURAL HABITATS. And if you ever get the urge to wear them with socks, at least be kind enough to follow it up with neon paint-splattered wrestling pants to complete the look.

Amazing, imaginative, beautiful, whimsical

2010-07-24T10:25:00.000-07:00

Of course, if it were me, I'd be sleeping while my baby slept. I guess that's why I'm not a creative genius....

Mila's Day Dreams

This is the way we dry our hair, dry our hair, dry our hair

2010-07-20T20:29:00.001-07:00

Picture this, if you will:

A 150-square foot bathroom with a sink, a toilet, a bathtub/shower combo, a bathroom tower storage thing, a kiddy potty, a 3.5 year old, an 18 month old, and myself. With a hair dryer. My daughter (3.5) is busy applying eyeliner to her tummy, because this is where I have told her it goes. (I figure no one can see it there. She's going to be mighty confused the day she sees me putting it on my eyelids.) My son (18 months) is climbing all over everything and constantly milliseconds away from personal injury. I'm standing at the sink with the blow dryer in one hand and a brush in the other. My left knee is bent with my left knee resting on top of the toilet, so as to keep my son from bathing in it. My right leg is stretched out as it can go to the right, with THAT foot partially blocking the kiddy potty, so as to keep my son from using its contents as hair gel. My arms are switching between trying to achieve some sort of hair style and keeping my son from playing with the toilet brush/unraveling the toilet paper/falling into the bathtub.

Funny thing is, even on the days when I actually get through this exercise without having to scrap it and clean the bathroom, it's only a matter of about three hours before I give up and throw it in a ponytail. You'd think I'd just give up on the whole thing. But see, it's like a gateway drug. I give up drying my hair once in a while and next thing you know I'm out in public wearing a scrunchie. I'll keep up my blow drying calisthenics as long as necessary, thank you very much.

Manbabies

2010-07-14T09:45:00.001-07:00

This is one of my favorite anti-depressants. Every time I go to this site, I end up laughing so hard I cry. Even when I'm by myself in the kitchen. See, this is why photoshop was invented. Bless you, Adobe.

www.manbabies.com

And since it may never make it up on the site, here is my submission of my own personal manbabies. It also makes me laugh out loud every time I see it. (Am I admitting too much about my sense of humor here?)

If you're with me so far, and you're sitting there jonesing for more bizarre photoshop magic, please take a stroll over to Selleck Waterfall Sandwich. And have a nice day.

The promotion of a lifetime

2010-07-11T21:08:00.000-07:00

In the last week, I went from a gainfully employed 4-day a week working mom to a full-time stay at home mom. It's a change we've been thinking about and working towards for a while now, and I'm still a little bit shell shocked that it's actually here. Now, on Sunday night after my first week of full time momhood, I can say that I'm physically exhausted but happy. This is going to be quite a change, but my heart and my arms are open and ready for it. Not to mention the fantastic fodder I'll have for my blog!

Here are my initial observations after one week in:

75% of my clothes have been rendered useless overnight.

I blew my hair dry one time this entire week. Once. And it still looked like crap.

I really need to embrace sunscreen ASAP.

My pants are the most convenient and certainly the most preferred napkin for food, boogers, sand, etc.

In the words of Chicago, Starbucks is a hard (hard!) habit to break.

Stay at home motherhood is particularly brutal with a hangover.

I keep forgetting to eat, which could work out nicely if it keeps up.

Deodorant is CRUCIAL.

When I go to bed at night, my eyes are heavy, my back is achy and my heart is full. I'll take it.

Killing me softly with her shirt

2010-06-29T08:50:00.000-07:00

Oh, Ed Hardy.

My husband once showed me a post from one of his friends on Facebook that said something along the lines of, "I just want to thank Ed Hardy for making shirts that allow me to spot douchebags at a distance." I think this guy was talking about Ed Hardy's illustrious men's line (that has been made famous by celebridouches such as John Gosselin) but lo and behold, apparently he also makes clothing for women.

I get it that sometimes you want to embrace your inner motorcycle girl. Heck, that's what Frye boots and studded sandals are for. You can close your eyes and imagine that your minivan is a Harley and that's wind whipping through your hair, not peanut butter. But I daresay that wearing brightly colored clothing that looks like someone zoomed in 400% on an old man's tattoos is not the way to go.

Picture this: I am casually strolling the aisles of the Loehman's shoe store (mostly a disappointment, except for a cute pair of pale pink ballet flats that make me want to listen to Spandau Ballet and this frump sighting). I hear one of the sweetest sounds in the world—a baby belly laughing. So I follow the giggles until I round an aisle and find this facing me down.

Not sure if you can read the words in the lovely banner surrounding the bleeding heart but it says this: LOVE KILLS SLOWLY. Awesome. What a nice thought to leave with all of us who are looking at your backside. That baby better laugh while he still can't read...

Will someone please explain this look to me?

2010-06-14T15:19:00.000-07:00

If there is a momiform in my little slice of suburbia, this must certainly be it. Every time I go out with the kids, I run into this outfit in one form or another. I'm trying to come up with a name for it: Camping Chic? Everyday Adventurewear? Backyard Tourist? It's like safari gear meets hiking outfit meets tourist clothes. All of which seems fine for those particular applications, but kind of odd for going to the park with the kids.

The other thing that I can't figure out is where are all these clothes coming from? I mean, I see them EVERYWHERE I look when I'm at the park, but I can't remember once seeing this outfit on a mannequin at the mall. And I don't shop at fancy places—I'm talking The Gap, Old Navy—the basics. It looks like it's been plucked straight out of the window of REI. Which is fine, except there aren't a whole lot of REIs out there where moms can do a little Sunday browsing. I mean, you have to work to put this look together.

It's not like it's so awful, it's just so devoid of personal style. It's so.... functional. I can't imagine that this was the go-to look of choice for these women before they had kids. I never saw this look in my pre-mom life, so I guess there's something about birthing children that makes certain women think they need to dress like they're hunting for wild game when they're hanging out with the kids.

Wait... I think it's all starting to make sense now...

Lose 10 Pounds and 5 Years in 20 Minutes

2010-06-08T10:35:00.000-07:00

I have discovered the fountain of youth, and it comes from a hose.

Two words: Airbrush. Tanning.

If you aren't squeamish about standing mostly naked but for a skimpy paper thong and a shower cap in front of a strange woman wielding a nozzle, you must try this. I'm not exaggerating when I say that, in just 20 minutes, you will look like you just spent two weeks in Maui. It's not orange, it doesn't streak, it looks pretty darn natural. I had an issue with my tan pooling in my elbow pit, but I think that was user error.

I'd be lying however if I didn't say there are drawbacks. First, the aforementioned mortification of the actual application. I just stand there looking at the wall and thinking over and over "I am not the worst that she's seen. I am not the worst that she's seen." (How's that for an empowering mantra?) Plus, after two rounds of childbirth, my modesty button is slightly broken. There's also the fact that it doesn't fade nicely and naturally. So, while you'll look smoking for 2-3 days (perfect for a big event/weekend away/highschool reunion), soon you'll start looking like an old car with a bad paint job. It just kind of... wears away. So you either need to keep it up on a regular basis, or go back to long sleeves and jeans until the awkward phase passes. Not terribly convenient, but frankly neither are pasty, blue-tinged arms and legs. For $35 and a few days of tan patchiness, I think it's well worth the good pictures you'll have while the fun lasts.

No No Yes Yes

2010-06-02T11:17:00.000-07:00

Just got back from a whirlwind weekend in New York for one of my best friend's weddings. It was magical, wonderful, beautiful... and all the more so because it was the first time we went away without both kids. I am a new woman. And though I saw little to no frump in NY except for what was provided by tourists like us, I did manage to snap a couple of pics in Starbucks.

This woman is under the unfortunate impression that her waist lies mere inches beneath her bosom. Where she found pants with that long of an inseam is a mystery. Maybe she's more accustomed to tennis skirts than pants, judging from her shoes and accessories.

Full disclosure: This is my BFF Jill, who we were with in NY. But after taking in the former image with my eyes, turning around and seeing her was like cleansing my eyeball palate. She was the refreshing sorbet I needed after Ms. Highpants. How cute, casual and comfortable does she look? And I don't think she'll mind if I tell you she was smuggling a breastpump in that bag...

Frump Submission

2010-05-27T16:14:00.000-07:00

(Click to see a bigger, better, frumpier picture)

Amen to my cousin, Colleen, for emailing me this fine, fine specimen of frump captured at her son's soccer game. Her immediate concern (as was mine, when I saw the photo) was: Why the heel? Even me, being a huge fan of heels, can see no purpose for them on what can only be described as athletic clogs. Or shall we say athleticlogs?

Now that we've addressed the problem of the rubber molded heel, we can spend a moment on the bubble-gum pink smiley-face socks. When one wears socks of this color, especially with mary jane-style shoes, one wants them to be seen, am I wrong? So this was a conscious choice. This mom said to herself, while donning her slightly cropped boot cut jeans, you know what would be really cute and sporty to wear to the soccer game today? My mary jane athleticlogs with those adorable bright pink happy face socks peeping out, like they're giggling at the world.

Either that, or her feet got cold on the way to the game and she grabbed her 10-year old daughter's socks from the floor of the minivan and threw them on. But I'm betting on the former.

Thank you Colleen!

One REALLY long month

2010-05-07T21:42:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm back, if you'll still have me. I think this is the longest I've ever gone without posting. Honestly, I don't know where the last 30 days went. It wasn't one thing, it was everything. In a nutshell, here's what I've been doing since we last met: Working ungodly hours, not cleaning my house, vomiting, mopping up my son's projectile vomit (or, rather, watching my husband mop it up while consoling said vomiter), hanging out in emergency rooms, aging, not sleeping, losing weight at the speed of evolution, traveling, more working, more vomit cleaning, even less sleeping. All of which has meant I have also NOT been blogging. So sad. So sorry. Though maybe I'm kidding myself that it's a loss to anyone besides myself.

Well. The LEAST I can do is come back with a picture for you. Shazam!

There really isn't any one thing to point out, here. Kind of like my last 30 days, it's just a big, bad, whirlwind of ickiness.

More soon!

Me, in progress

2010-04-27T12:21:00.001-07:00

Lately I've been feeling like I should prop up one of those neon yellow signs in front of me that says, "Under construction. Please excuse the mess." Between the lack of sleep, the husband-health-stress, the inability to exercise and, you know, aging, I am not feeling like myself. At all. But I've had a few wonderful, totally selfish moments over the past couple of weeks that are giving me hope that a person may emerge one day that resembles a me I like.

It all started when my husband noticed how fried I've been and surprised me by taking me to a hotel for a night. AND DROPPING ME OFF. ALONE. AND HANDING ME A ROOM KEY AND DRIVING AWAY WITH THE KIDS. When I got up to the room, there was a bottle of wine chilling, a People Magazine, and a card telling me to order room service and watch a movie. I promptly burst into some of the happiest tears of my life. I watched a movie he'd never watch with me, slept diagonally in the bed and still managed to wake up at all the times the kids usually do, but this time I could just chuckle to myself and go back to sleep. Damn, it was good. Later, I told him that leaving me alone in a hotel room was probably the single most romantic thing he's ever done.

To all three of my male readers, DO THIS FOR YOUR WIFE. To everyone else, leave this post up and out in a conspicuous place in your house where your husband will see it. Like, the bathroom. Trust me, for helping me put myself back together, this was the next best thing to a photofacial and a boob lift.

Back, boobs, it's all good.

2010-04-07T21:38:00.000-07:00

My husband sniffed this one out on a recent trip to the aquarium. We decided that perhaps this mom's obvious lack of a bra was due to the supportive effect of the back brace. Thoughts?

I UNFRUMPED MY BLOG!!!

2010-04-03T19:48:00.001-07:00

Remember when, way back in the very beginning of the year, I said I was going to revamp my inconsequential little corner of cyberspace? Well, I DID IT! (Or rather, I had fabulous, talented people do it. Since I am neither. Thank you, oh gifted ones.)

I should really be less excited about this. I mean, seriously, I'm a grown woman. But the fact that my blog no longer looks like it was designed by the blonde technophobe that I am is causing me some serious giddiness. I keep going back to look at it, and every time I do, I get a little flip in my stomach, like falling in love. Am I making you uncomfortable? Ok, I'll stop now. (But it's really cute, right?)

Frumpy Footwear, A Mini-Gallery

2010-03-27T20:47:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've been surreptitiously snapping photos of the frumpy footwear that seems to be taking over my little section of suburbia. Everywhere I look my eyeballs are affronted with shoes that make me wonder if there is a giant shoe store filled with camping shoes somewhere in my midst that I'm overlooking. I wouldn't even know where to buy these shoes, even if I wanted to (and I don't and won't, unless I get some kind of head injury. Or hardcore bunions.) Odds are good that this is just the first in a series of these galleries, since the subjects are just so darn plentiful. It's like whale watching during mating season.

These are probably the least offensive, but still. They look like convertible house slippers:

And now for the ever-popular "grandpa tourist" look:

"Excuse me, I'm just stopping in for a latte before my daily riverbed-walking expedition":

Can't stop. Hammertime (click on the photo for the full effect. I beg you.):

Why hello, 80's. I've missed you.

2010-03-17T20:54:00.000-07:00

I have been doing a little spring shopping lately and I feel like Alice in Wonderland who fell down the rabbit hole right back into 1987. And I love it. I have never hidden my devotion to the 80's, mainly the music and, ok, specifically Michael Jackson and Jon Bon Jovi. But I still have heart-flutters when I think about certain outfits I wore in the 80's—the pink zip-up dress, the fisherman sweaters (worn backwards, of course), the pop beads, my dad's army jacket. The 80's were good to me, fashion-wise. Part of this is the same reason why I'm happy to see them return. See, the whole baggy-on-top-slim-on-bottom look is EXACTLY what this busty, skinny-legged body needs. One time, I was reading one of those magazine articles where they ask you what fruit you are—apple, pear, etc. I said to my husband, "I never relate to these... I guess maybe I'm an upside down pear?" To which he responded, without even looking up from what he was reading, "You are a lightbulb." So see, I need this trend back. The entire era of the 90's, with the baggy Z Cavaricci jeans and the tight bodysuit tops, was an abomination to my particular body type. Yes, I realize I'm thinking selfishly, but I'm overjoyed to see it all—the neon, the converse, the boots, the layers.

Here are a couple of things I bought that make my toes curl with happiness. First, the cutest, most comfortable ballet flats ever, and you can't tell by this picture but they are straight-up NEON pink:

You can buy them here.

And this army-inspired jacket that for some reason was $29.99 off of $118.00—reminds me of when I used to wear my dad's army jacket to school with my CP Shades long pink skirt:

You can buy it here.

Ah, yes. Now if only John Hughes were here to share my joy.

Watch out Gwen Stefani, I'm a comin' for you

2010-03-02T21:36:00.000-08:00

After the whole surgery/hospital/lack of sleep/purple eye bag thing, I decided I needed a serious look pick-me-up. I mean, I felt like I aged twelve years in two weeks and mama needed to turn back the clock. So here's what I did.

First, I bought myself these glasses. Normally, I'm more of a Nicole Richie/big sunglasses type of gal. These are way more hipster than I usually go for, which has the effect of making me feel like a total stranger when I have them on. They make me younger, more attractive, skinnier and smarter. They do. I swear. They also make my bad haircut fabulous and turn my minivan into a Porsche Cayenne.

Next, I went and got a mani/pedi, but I did something different this time. I went for super-dark-purple-almost-black on my feet AND my hands. I mean, the last time I had a shade on my fingertips besides pale nude, I think it was the 80's and my nails were acrylic. I also believe I caught them on fire, but that's another story. Again, the dark nails transformed my hands into hipster hands, cured my hangnails and added two carats to my diamond.

Between the shades and the nails, I feel like a rock star. Mind you, I'm not saying I LOOK like a rock star, that's not really for me to say. But, on the back end of 30 with two kids and a minivan, feeling like a rock star is a damn good start. Grand total was about $250. Not exactly chump change, but for a full week's supply of being a superstar in my own mind, I'd say it was well worth it.

I've Been Schooled

2010-02-15T08:49:00.000-08:00

This past week, I have been out in public in unprecedented states of personal frump. I have held numerous conversations with other adults while sporting unbrushed hair, unbrushed teeth, snot-smeared clothes and zero makeup. If I was being followed by the paparazzi, there could be an entire issue of OK Magazine dedicated to my downhill slide. But I've also been reminded of something important: I am blessed to even be caring about frump in the first place.

My husband had surgery on Thursday to remove a benign but very rare and aggressive tumor from his abdomen. Because of the rarity of the tumor, we traveled to Houston to have the surgery performed at MD Anderson. Even though we'd been planning for this event, and had an inkling that it might be tough, it has spun my head how hard it's been on him mainly, and me secondarily. There were some issues with his pain management, and other things that caused him extreme discomfort the few days following the surgery, and ALL THAT MATTERED was his health and well-being. Whether or not I had time to brush my teeth and hair was hardly a consideration before racing to the hospital to get him the help that he needed, or racing to the hotel to be with the kids.

So, in short, I consider myself extremely blessed that, most of the time, I even have the luxury of caring about something as meaningless as my personal appearance. There are far more important things in the world. I always knew this (though I have been accused of shallowness thanks to the subject matter of this blog!) but it's taken on new meaning this week.

Not to worry, I will once again take up the mantle of frump warrior. Once all is well with the world (and it will be), my frump radar will start picking up signals again. Until then....

A link, and two questions

2010-02-06T23:07:00.000-08:00

The link:

www.pajamajeans.com

The questions:

Why do I think there are way more moms in the world who are thrilled about this rather than having the appropriate response of horror?

Why do I kind of want to order them to see what they look and feel like?

Not OK Magazine

2010-01-31T22:28:00.000-08:00

My husband got OK Magazine for me as a gift a long, long time ago and it's still coming (even though I'm not sure we've ever renewed it). When he got it for me, I thought it was pretty much one of the best gifts a girl could ask for... celebrity gossip appearing on my own front porch weekly? Yes please! But now, after like 150 weeks of it, I'm totally disillusioned. For one thing, I'm beginning to think that OK Magazine is owned by some combination of the Kardashian family, Kendra Wilkinson, and the Twilight franchise. Because damn if one of them (if not all three) isn't on EVERY COVER. Another thing I can't stand is that they're all about the big fat misleads—as in this week's headline: Brad and Jen Together Again! Only to discover that they're talking about the fact that both of them were in the same room at the Haiti telethon. Get it? Together. Again. Thanks for that newsflash, OK.

Anyways, there's been a particular recent issue that I have to take umbrage with. On the cover is—you guessed it—Kendra Wilkinson and Kourtney Kardashian, both holding their sweet, new little babies (and looking quite fabulous, I might add). These babies are like, 6 weeks old. Can you imagine talking to a magazine, much less posing for a picture 6 weeks after having your first baby? But my big problem lies in the headlines on said magazine. Here's what it says:

New Moms Tell All...
-Romantic dates & hot sex lives
-Kendra: Hank loves my new booty
-Kourtney: Scott's a great dad, he even changes diapers!
PLUS: How they're getting fit and losing the baby weight FAST!

So, let's take this line by line.

Romantic dates and hot sex lives? Let's all go back, for a moment, to the time when we just had our first babies. Six weeks later, you're just beginning to get used to being up all hours of the night, your boobs are enormous and sensitive as hell, your body looks like you're still three months pregnant, and your crotch is in a sling. Exactly what about any of that is romantic, hot, or has anything to do with sex? And date nights? Please. I have a 3.5 year old and a 1 year old and we get about three of those a year.

Hank loves my new booty? You mean, the one that's sitting on a three-inch thick maxipad all day? Wow, Hank. That's pretty evolved of you. Quite impressive.

Scott's a great dad, he even changes diapers? Is this some kind of cause for celebration? If a new dad balks at changing diapers, they just need to get the chat about having just pushed a watermelon out of a pinhole. No need for hysterics, just a few firm words of wisdom and it's all worked out.

And as for getting fit and losing weight, I say good on you girls. You knock yourself out. AFTER YOUR BABY IS A FEW MONTHS OLD. Why would anyone even think about such matters 6 weeks after having a baby? Slow down! Chill out! Enjoy your blissful, newborn baby and the well-deserved frump that goes with it. It's so fleeting. You have the rest of your life to fight your body. Right now, just enjoy the magical, powerful, amazing thing it can do—create a life.

And speaking of lives, you need to get one, OK Magazine.

All's Welly

2010-01-26T15:14:00.000-08:00

Ok, frump fighters. I have a head scratcher on my hands. For Christmas 2008, my true love gave to me.... two pairs of functional boots. Uggs and Hunter wellies. Keep in mind that I was 12 months pregnant and feeling about as sexy as a barrel, so two pairs of flat, built-purely-for-function boots was an interesting choice, to say the least. However, to his credit (and great fortune), I ended up loving both and, in the case of the Uggs, wearing them nonstop as my go-to, wear-around-the-house-and-every-so-often-on-errands footwear. The wellies on the other hand, have stood in the corner of our bedroom looking kind of cool but going largely unworn. Well, fast forward a year or so to now, when it's been dumping buckets outside for the past two weeks, and here's my dilemma. I know that Hunter wellies are the "cool" wellies. I know they sell them at J. Crew. I know that there's a certain equestrian chic to the whole jeans and wellies look. I appreciate all of that. So why is it that when I wear my cute black Hunter wellies, I feel like any minute someone is going to hand me a shovel and ask me to sling shit? I simply can't figure out how to rock this look. What do I wear on the top of my person when the bottom half looks so.... Scottish? Please tell me. I'm sick of coming home with rain in my pumps.

Burn your Tevas. Please.

2010-01-18T22:04:00.000-08:00

I would like to prove (with the help of Polyvore) that there is simply no need to wear river shoes in normal, suburban mom life. Also, can we all just take a moment of quiet, intense gratitude for Polyvore? It's like my 8-year old Barbie fashion plates, but with the whole internet to pick from. Normally, I'm slow to come around to anything technological, but this is like my version of computer porn.

So, peruse some cute comfy mom shoe options. I know this is just a sprinkling, but it's a start. I do believe you can click on the image to enlarge it, than click each separate pic to get more info and even to buy, if so desired. Now if only I could buy all these cute shoes! Sigh.

Happy Birthday Little Man!

2010-01-15T10:05:00.000-08:00

Today is Lincoln's first birthday, and it's blowing my mind that my little baby is one. I truly feel like we just walked in the front door with him all bundled up from the hospital. How did 365 days pass so blazingly fast? Maybe the fact that my entire labor with him was two hours long was a foreshadowing of how fast things would feel in the year to come.

Lincoln brings so much pure joy into life. Not just ours, either... this is the kid that, when we go out into the world, flirts and waves and smiles and coos until every heart within a ten-foot radius of him is officially melted. I can't wait to see what the next year brings, and continue to watch him grow into his own little guy.

Happy day, Lincoln Roland Elliott! We love you so much!

I do believe I hear angels singing

2010-01-12T15:48:00.000-08:00

I just bought this.

It's practically perfect in every way.

I can wear it on mom days and on work days.

It's fitted and flattering but the heft of it makes it great at lumpoflage.

And, it has an ever-so-slight hint of motorcycle chic.

Take that, frumpy fleece mom vests of the world.

This conversation actually happened

2010-01-11T15:49:00.000-08:00

"Mommy, can you carry all of those toys at the same time?"

(Me, proudly): "I sure can!"

"Why? Because of your long boobies?"

Concerning, to say the least.

2010 - The Unfrumpiest Year Ever

2010-01-09T19:53:00.000-08:00

Happy new year!

So one of my resolutions this year is about this blog. I sincerely love writing it, and I'm constantly thinking to myself, "I need to write a post about that." But somewhere between the idea and the actual sitting down at the computer to make it happen comes things like life, and parenting, and work, and, every so often, sleep. That said, because I love doing it, and even more to the point, I love love love love love when someone tells me they read these ramblings and enjoy them, I am committed to keeping it up.

So. I'm going on record.

2010 will be the year of Unfrump My Mom. (At least I will think of it that way. You don't have to - that would be weird.) I will post often. I will post pictures. I will make this site look less like something someone slapped together circa 1997. All I ask of you is to keep me motivated by continuing to check in on me. Leave a comment when the inspiration strikes. Maybe even become a follower. I, in return, will become a tireless chronicler of frump in all forms.

2010. Bring it.

Happy Frumpidays!

2009-12-23T09:57:00.000-08:00

I love this time of year, when the mailbox is joyfully stuffed with the gorgeous faces of people I love. Every single card we've received this year has been beautiful, festive and creative. That said, there are plenty of pitfalls us overzealous holiday moms can fall into when it comes to sending out cards. Allow me to illustrate some of most prevalent holiday card misfires (courtesy of awkwardfamilyphotos.com):

Pitfall #1: The Matching Outfits

Pitfall #2: The Bizarre Pose

Pitfall #3: The Unnecessary Props

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Merry holidays everyone! XO!

Calorie Counting for Moms

2009-12-13T21:42:00.000-08:00

Now that my baby is almost 11 months old, I'm getting medieval on these last 10 pounds. I just saw a photo of Heidi Klum six weeks after giving birth, and it made me simultaneously curse my genes and decide to fight them tooth and nail. So I started in the most obvious place: calorie counting. I went online and started looking up calorie counts for some of the things I'm eating on a regular basis. Which is how I came to the realization that us moms need a calorie counting chart all our own. I mean, when was the last time you consumed a lunch of "grilled chicken and salad"? Or "salmon on a bed of cous cous"? So here. I've done the research. And it's come to this: the (first-ever?) guide to calorie counting for moms.

Crusts of PB&J sandwich: 100 calories (+/- 20 cal. depending on just how much of the good stuff is oozing into them)

Two (very large) spoonfuls of mac and cheese lunch just "to taste": 50 calories

String cheese that I put in my bag for the kids but got hungry and ate: 80 calories

3-4 waffle bites left on the breakfast plate (with butter and syrup): 35 calories

1 slice of mozzarella quesadilla on whole wheat tortilla, because it's "too big" to serve: 125 calories

Hot dogs: 15 calories per "slice" if I cut the hot dog into 10 slices

Evil, evil Pirate's Booty: 50 calories a handful (I can get a lot in my hand)

Handful of almonds (probably my most regular lunch): 400 (!!!) calories

Wine, wine, and more wine once they go to bed: 125 calories a glass

So here's how it's going to go. More grilled chicken rather than in its nugget state, less cheese, less almonds as a meal replacement, more steering clear of peanut butter, and, as much as it kills me, less glasses of wine.

Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to go eat a slab of cheese with peanut butter and down it with a half bottle of chardonnay.

Walmart and Family Frump

2009-12-07T11:54:00.000-08:00

Oh, my fellow unfrumpers, how long it's been. I'm starting to think my to-do list is rivaling Santa's. There's so much frump in the world to discuss, and so little time to do it. So, while I work on christmas shopping/card buying/house decorating/child rearing/unfrumping/nailing a giant work assignment, allow me to turn you on to a few sites I've been loving lately. As you'll see, they dovetail quite nicely into my general theme.

This almost makes me want to shop at Walmart, just for the people watching. ALMOST, I said.
www.peopleofwalmart.com

Especially appropriate this time of year—the horrifying family photo. Now I just need to find an entire blog dedicated to hair-raising Christmas letters. (Note: I especially recommend "LOL Cats" and "The Skivvies")
www.awkwardfamilyphotos.com

Enjoy!

Soccer Practice Frump

2009-11-18T11:09:00.000-08:00

At my daughter's soccer practice recently (or whatever you call it when they're three), I found myself intrigued by a couple of outfit choices made by parents.

Case #1: Mismatched mom frump

At first glance, this woman doesn't look so terribly frumpy. But oh, please do look again. On top she's wearing flannel, which I hear is making a comeback. My personal feelings about flannel aside, so far so good. Now let's take a look at her pants. You might need to click on the picture to see this, but those are brown pinstripe work pants. Anne Taylor pants. Talbot's pants. Dress Barn pants. Is this perplexing to anyone else? You're taking your kid to soccer at the park and you toss on your SLACKS? There's nothing easy or comfortable or park-like about pinstripe pants. I figure it's the result of one of two scenarios: She's going to work after soccer and has the matching brown pinstripe blazer in the car, or she pulled on whatever pants were on the floor from the day before. Either way, perplexing.

Case #2: Overzealous dad frump

Did I make myself clear that this soccer class is for three year olds? If not, allow me to describe some of the "drills". Child dribbles soccer ball and pretends to "send a package" through two cones (the ball), whereupon parent says, "Oh look! You sent me an elephant (or whatever silly thing you want to say)!" Child dribbles ball to flag and pretends to "blow out the candles on a birthday cake". Fun, yes. Requiring the services of an entire professional-level soccer uniform? Hardly.

Halloween How-to

2009-11-02T16:50:00.000-08:00

My friend Katherine sent me a message on Facebook with this request:

Can you weigh in on when/where/how/under what circumstances suburba-mom should also dress up for Halloween?

Oh boy do I love me a request! So, without any further delay, let's explore this suburban minefield.

Rule #1 (because I couldn't agree more, Katherine):
Catwoman suits should be reserved only for women who look like Michele Pfeiffer and Halle Berry. And you know who looks like Michele Pfeiffer and Halle Berry? Michele Pfeiffer and Halle Berry. Know who doesn't? Khloe Kardashian.

Rule #2
Please do not use this occasion as an excuse to explore your inner sex worker. If you really must, there are street fairs for that in San Francisco that are far more appropriate for cleavage and ass cheeks than suburban sidewalks.

Rule #3
Don't wear anything that could injure others at the school parade.

Rule #4
Think about your natural shape before you decide to dress up as, say, a pumpkin or a sumo wrestler.

Rule #5
Scary costumes can be good, but keep in mind that I'll still be thinking about you dressed as a zombie eating brains next time I see you at playgroup.

Rule #6
Too much costume and too little costume are equally undesirable. I learned this the hard way when, in a total rookie mom maneuver, I showed up to work in my daughter's classroom on Friday and wasn't dressed up. She was, but I kind of didn't realize I should. The other moms were in cute, festive costumes and I felt like a loser party pooper. Oh wait... maybe that was my costume. I was dressed up as a loser party pooper.

Rule #7
It can be cute to coordinate with your child (I've seen some cute ideas like chicken and egg, lion and lion tamer, etc.) but please please please don't match. By the way, this is true ALWAYS.

So, let's recap. By all means, dress up. But try not to make it too sexy, too crazy, too baggy or too freaky. Don't try too hard and don't try too little. Remember that you have to do functional things in your costume, like walk, talk and pee. And have fun! (Actually doesn't sound too different from any day of dressing to be a mom, does it?)

Things that go poop in the night

2009-10-31T21:27:00.000-07:00

On this SPOOKY Halloween evening, I thought I'd share a horror story happening right here at home, nightly. My little 9 month old goblin wakes up every night at 4 am, pretty much without fail, with a diaper full of BOO. Seriously? I mean, I'm all for regularity, but what's with the timing? That Bob Seger song "Night Moves" has now taken on a whole new meaning to me. So, when I'm out with the little ones trick or treating, I just want to be on the record that NO, I am not dressed as a heavyweight boxer or Madeline Albright, those are real, actual bags under my eyes. Happy Halloween!

Things that make me go HMMM....

2009-10-20T14:53:00.000-07:00

Why, if you happen to be a 6 foot 5 inch man with a beer belly, would you rock a mullet down to the middle of your back and wear fleece pajama pants with the "Family Guy" baby and the word "Evil" on them as daywear?

WHY WHY WHY OH GOD WHY do so many moms wear sandals with socks?

These are just a few things that are hurting my brain (and eyeballs) today.

Unexpected Discovery: Men's Facial Products

2009-10-18T23:56:00.000-07:00

The other day, my sweet husband came home with some Kiehl's self-tanner for me, since he knows I swear by it. Apparently, he was also given some samples—as I found a tiny little tub of something from Kiehl's called "Facial Fuel" in our medicine cabinet. I love the name of this stuff—it's so clearly aimed at men. Us women will buy things called "Superpeptide Vitamin Collagen Anti-Aging Enhancer" thinking that all those fancy words will somehow translate into "no wrinkles". But men? No. They just need it to say, "Good stuff for your face" and they're pretty much sold. Throw in a reference to something flammable and it's a slam dunk.

So I dab a little bit of this stuff on my cheeks and... HELLO! GOOD MORNING! GUTENTAG! HOT DOG! It was a like a little caffeine rush to my face. There's something in this stuff that makes it feel like you've just stepped out into a frigid morning breeze from the neck up. Suffice to say, it's a darn good way to start the day, especially when you've spent half the night lulling children into various states of rest. See, skin care professionals assume (rightly) that they have about 3.5 seconds to grab a man's attention or else they're never going to stick to a skin care regime. Women, on the other hand, will loyally and diligently slog through day after day and night after night of a routine because someone promised us that we "may see results after six weeks".

So here's my hypothesis—MEN'S FACIAL PRODUCTS KICK ASS. Their typical lack of attention span and general disinterest in self-beautification means that any product geared towards them is going to have to work hard, and work fast. As an exhausted, time-starved mom, this is exactly what I want out of my skin care. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am!

Of course, now I want to try other men's skin stuff and see if it blows all my stuff out of the water. I'll either make more great new discoveries, or I'll grow a beard. Either way, of course I'll tell you about it.

Today I Mowed the Lawn in Skinny Jeans

2009-10-12T23:15:00.001-07:00

You heard me. I did. Why? Because the lawn needed mowing and that's what I was wearing. See, here's the problem about being a mom. There is simply not one good outfit to cover all the things you need to do in one day. Today, my day consisted of a doctor appointment for my baby, school drop off and pick up for my preschooler, a couple of errands and, as it happens, a lawn mow. I mean, what is the perfect outfit for all of that? Technically, I suppose it would be overalls and a gardening hat. But I don't own either of those (thank god in heaven). So I picked jeans over yoga pants as a sign of respect for the doctor, a cute sweater to make up for the fact that I barely had on any makeup and hadn't done my hair, and topped it all off with my omnipresent big sunglasses. So if that's what I ended up mowing the lawn in, so be it. I'm sure my neighbors got a chuckle out of it.

Gray Matter

2009-10-07T20:09:00.001-07:00

The other day, I was standing in line behind a mom at Starbucks. She was pushing a stroller and had on a cute workout outfit. All good. But then I got a gander at her hair. It was brown, except for where it was gray. Gray, gray, gray, having a field day on top of her head. I cannot stress enough that nothing ages a woman more than gray hair. And yet, it's pretty much inevitable. BELIEVE ME I know it's hard to keep up with hair maintenance -- whether it's coloring it or styling it or removing it from unsightly places. But there are aisles and aisles of products at the drugstore that can help you in this matter—quickly, and cheaply.

For those of you who are DIY-haircolor virgins, I know what you're thinking. What if it looks bad? Well, I suppose you are taking that risk, but it's not like having the top of your head look like an aged chinchilla is any better. And if you pick a shade that's close to your haircolor, it's pretty much bulletproof. I mean, they don't get Sarah Jessica Parker and Eva Longoria to pimp this stuff for nothing.

Back with a Bang (or should I say, a Bird)

2009-09-26T22:03:00.000-07:00

Many heartfelt apologies for my prolonged absence... not quite sure where all that time went. I have much to report on, but let me begin with something I saw today that made the blogger in me sing with glee. It was an abundantly pregnant mom walking across the street with three children of various ages. She wore skin-tight, acid-wash, capri-length jeans (I think just one of those would have been bad enough, the combo of all, on such a very pregnant woman, was mind boggling, as you can imagine) as well as a tank top that left nothing to the imagination. (Trust me, I tried. Hard.) As she crossed the street, a car made a turn in front of her and her kids. It was a really, really stupid maneuver on the part of the driver. I would have been pretty livid myself had it happened to me. But I'm not quite sure I would have handled it as she did, which was to rear back all god-knows-how-many-pounds-of -her, scream until she was red in the face (with a child holding onto each hand and one in tow) and then unceremoniously drop the hand of one child and unfurl the middle finger right in the middle of the crosswalk. Have you ever seen a 12-month pregnant woman in acid wash jeans with three other children fly the bird in public? It's kind of a religious experience.

A Don't and then a Do

2009-09-09T21:08:00.000-07:00

It's always more fun to start with the don'ts, isn't it?

I took my daughter to the park last week and boy, did we stumble upon a nice frump specimen. I fear that my photographic skills aren't quite up to snuff, so let me give you a description of the frump you are about to witness. (If you could see me now, I'm rubbing my hands together in anticipation.)

Why YES, that IS a t-shirt with wooden-beaded fringe hanging all along the sleeves and bottom, a la Bo Derek's hair in "10". And yes AGAIN, that IS a strangely erect visor worn underNEATH the hair, making it look all the more like a mushroom. No, I don't know quite what's going on with the pants, though the fabric reminds me of the bedspread my parents had on their waterbed in the 70's. I won't take too much time with the shoes, because I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume they're corrective. And the backpack? Well, at least it's not a fanny pack, but it's a strange accessory to everything else that's going on. In fact, maybe that's what bothers me the most about this outfit - every part of it seems like it belongs on someone else. It's like her head is playing tennis, her torso is watching Flashdance, her legs are heading to Miami Beach circa 1975, her feet are doing some nursing and her back is holding shrunken heads on a trek across Africa.

Ok, ok, now for a do.

My (very unfrumpy) friend sent me this pic of Manhattan Beach moms at the park. Let's all breathe a nice sigh of relief. Cute, unstudied, pulled-back hair. Big, dark sunglasses (thus allowing for the lack of eye makeup, if so desired). Comfy, beachy flip-flops. No unsightly lumps, peek-a-boo thongs, or, for that matter, asses. NO BEADED FRINGE. And, for the piece de resistance, shorts that match the stroller.

Honestly, it seems to me that the first look would be harder to pull off. Where exactly does one find go to find "Bo Derek chic" in modern-day America? Maybe I'm just not looking hard enough.

Say hello to my little friend

2009-08-31T21:28:00.001-07:00

It's small. It's powerful. It's battery-operated. It looks like a vibrator, but I assure you that it's far more exciting and useful.

It's my face shaver.

Not sure when it started, but one day a few years back while I was pregnant with my daughter, I looked in the mirror and saw a fuzzy goat face looking back at me. Now, I'm lucky because my facial hair is fair, but that doesn't make it any less thick and goat-like. I don't have to bleach it, but I damn sure have to remove it.

That's where the Lumina "Finishing Touch" comes in. (Don't you just love that name? It's such a euphemism. I live in a world in which "finishing my touch" really translates into "shaving my face.") But oh, how I love it.

You literally brush it over your face, and watch as tufts (actual tufts!) of hair fall into your sink. God, it's satisfying. It even has a little light, so you can see the fuzzless tracks appearing on your face. Now, I know what you're thinking: Doesn't shaving your face make the hair come back even worse? But see, I don't understand this argument. First of all, I haven't noticed that effect. But secondly (and more importantly), doesn't this only matter if you're planning on only shaving once and never again? Because if the goal is to continue the hair removal (and I can't see why it wouldn't be), then really, who cares if the hair gets thicker and/or worse? Plus, if this theory were true, I'd run out tomorrow and shave my head so next time around I'd have better hair.

Bye, bye baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

From bad to worse to worser

2009-08-21T09:40:00.000-07:00

Bad:
I bought two liters of Biolage shampoo (in bulk to save money, of course) and I'm pretty sure it's making my hair greasy and my scalp itchy.

Worse:
I saw a mom at Target yesterday and my first thought was, "Frumpy.' My second thought was "I have that shirt."

Worser:
My daughter walked into the bathroom the other morning and said to me, "Mama, what are you doing?" And I replied, "Shaving my face." (I'll expound on this in my next post...)

Still Shuddering

2009-08-16T16:14:00.000-07:00

Normally my daughter goes to swim class on Saturday mornings with my husband, but yesterday he wasn't feeling great, so we sent in the second string. Me. I suited us both up and off we went.

Ok. So.

It wasn't so much the Land's End swim suit. I get it that it's hard to find cute options when you're trying to hide a few extra lbs. (Though Old Navy and Target do it better, cuter and cheaper. Just saying.)

It wasn't so much the 4-day underarm growth. It's toddler swim class, after all, so maybe there wasn't a lot of effort made. Or maybe her razor was destroyed in a freak shower accident.

Because what did send me home from swim class with a severe case of PTSD was the TWO INCHES of pubic hair emerging from either side of her suit and making a slow descent down her legs.

Wax. Shave. Nair. Thread. Tweeze. Electrolysize. Rip 'em out one by one by hand if you must. But please, please, please deforest yourself before wearing a swimsuit in public. Do I really have to say this?

UPDATE 9/9/09: In case anyone didn't believe me, my husband verified the existence of Sascrotch at last week's swim lesson. Think there's a swim cap for that?

A comment on comments

2009-08-10T14:34:00.000-07:00

Apparently, I'm having some issues with my comments section, which sucks because I love comments! Don't give up on me, friends. I will set aside my technophobia long enough to lick this embarrassing problem. Keep trying!

UPDATE: Seems to be working now! Keep the comments coming... I love 'em!

Hairdo Redo

2009-08-03T10:18:00.001-07:00

So, I posted here a while ago about unfrumpy moms requiring a hairdo. (As in, one that has an actual name like "The Shag" or "The Bob" or "Posh Spice".) After doing some heavy duty research into the matter (namely, sitting at Starbucks, witnessing moms of both the frumpy and unfrumpy variety order lattes), I've decided to back off of my former position a bit.

The reason? I've seen a lot of just plain old shoulder length or long hair that looks great on moms—both on my friends and just out and about. But, as always, here's the caveat. 1. You must have great hair. (I know this, because I don't.) 2. You must wash and brush said hair.

Long hair is both a blessing and a curse. If you can carry it off, then by all means, do so. But realize that—just as driving a car requires a license—there's some responsibility at play here. Far too often in momdom I've seen long hair turn into a mass of unkempt frizz perched atop a frazzled-looking face. I'm talking about parts that wander aimlessly, grays that are screaming to be covered, and levels of dirtiness that approach homelessness. Or, at the very least, just a sad, limp mess.

I've also seen hair that looks lustrous and healthy, shiny and Farrah-Fawcett-gorgeous. (If I sound envious, it's because I am. Deeply.) It just requires a modicum of upkeep. Like washing, not necessarily every day, just as often as your particular grease levels indicate. And brushing/styling, so as not to look like bedhead parading around in public. You can pull that look off if you're Mary Kay Olsen, sort of, but not if you're pushing 40 and a double stroller to boot.

I recently had a haircut and I'm back to my Posh Spice ways, though I'm afraid I'm careening dangerously into Kate Gosselin territory. I fear I'm just a few badly placed snips away from being her stunt double. I've made up my mind that once I lose the rest of my baby weight—about 8 pounds—I'm rewarding myself with hair extensions. So I too, for once, can have long lustrous hair to make other moms jealous with. Mine will just be fake.

At least SOMETHING around here is skinny

2009-07-24T21:24:00.000-07:00

I bought a pair of skinny jeans.

I admit, I may have just bought them because they had the word "skinny" in the name, and I harbor some delusions that my body will follow suit just because I'm wearing them, but there's also the fact that skinny jeans have been au courant for about three years now and I've yet to give in ('til now of course).

Trends are funny that way. I remember distinctly when capris first hit the fashion scene—must have been in the early 90's. I thought HELL NO I would never be caught dead in something that chopped off my already stumpy Norwegian legs, hoping fervently that the trend would pass. Well, fast forward about five years and damn if 75% of my pants weren't cut off at the ankle. I do believe we've moved beyond the heyday of the capri pant, but I know it will be back. Oh yes, like the flu, these things always cycle back around.

So back to the skinny jeans. Clearly the 80's are making a big comeback. I'm seeing lots of large plaid and hightops and (gasp) even neon. I remember my skin-tight, zipper-ankle Guess jeans lovingly. But that doesn't mean I'm jumping back in without some serious forethought.

First, these jeans are not skin tight (largely due to the fact that I just had a baby, not to mention the fact that I'm 36). Second, they are dark wash, hugely important in frumpoflage. Lastly, there are no zippers lower than the pubic region, which is as it should be.

I actually dig them. I really do. They make me feel like a sex kitten, or at least as much of a sex kitten as one can feel like while wearing a nursing bra. I highly recommend at least going out and trying some on. If just for the sheer pleasure of saying, "I'd like to try on some SKINNY jeans, please."

UPDATE: @Kristen: I got these ones at Banana Republic. Not the most stylish spot to pick up trends, I know, but I get the hubby's discount. Plus, I figure BR can help me be trendy without being TOO trendy, which could backfire disastrously....

Inner Unfrumpiness

2009-07-19T21:29:00.001-07:00

There's a great article in this month's Real Simple written by a woman named Karthryn Harrison. In response to the question, "What makes you feel beautiful?" She answers spending time with her kids. Here's an excerpt:

"The first time it happens, we're out walking: my little boy holding my left hand, his older sister on my right, and the baby, six weeks old, asleep in her Snugli. We're still at the stage when my taking a shower seems like an accomplishment. I haven't lost all the weight I gained while pregnant; its been months since I had my hair highlighted to preserve the conceit that I remain as blond as I was at 16; I look like I'm getting as little sleep as I am; and I am wearing a nursing bra—a contraption that, inexplicably, department stores categorize as lingerie. In short: not a glamorous moment.

Still, I feel—for the first time in my life—really, truly, I-don't-need-anyone-to-tell-me-so, drop-dead beautiful. It has taken three children to deliver me to this state, this symmetry of boy on my left, girl on my right, and baby on my breast. Ridiculous, but as we navigate the sidewalk I feel radiant, as if I were wearing a dress encrusted with precious stones, reflecting the sun's light."

I love this. And I think this is the essence of unfrumpiness. While I do still take umbrage with Tevas worn with socks, what's on our bodies is so much less important than what's in our hearts. If you don't feel it, how can you be it?

If you get a chance, check out the whole article. It made my heart do a little jig.

All-American Frump?

2009-07-14T21:17:00.000-07:00

I'm stumped. Truly. Is American Apparel a great place to find hip basics (fig. A) or a joke being played on humanity (fig B)?

Putting aside the crazy, possibly pedophiliac, certainly sex-starved CEO, American Apparel seems like a great idea. Basics, in lots of colors, made in the USA. They even have great stuff for kids (just don't take yours into the store unless you want to tape their eyeballs shut. This place makes Abercrombie's in-store displays look downright prudish). But then again, they sell Unisex Shiny Batwing Hoodies in about 8 colors.

I bought a long, baggy cardigan there the other day, and I really love it. But while I'm wearing it, I can't help but wonder if I would have thought it was as cool if I had found it on a rack at Goodwill, because honestly, I could have. In fact, I'm pretty sure I had the same exact item of clothing in 1986. Maybe that's why I like it so much. And why I want to tease my bangs while wearing it.

Help me decide. Should I, a mother of two, even be stepping foot inside a place where I can buy a Shiny Suspender Swimsuit?

Seriously now

2009-07-07T11:53:00.000-07:00

It's summer.

Mind the pits.

That's all I'm saying.