Wednesday, June 22, 2005

When I've finished outlining the entire day for Max, and then explain, yet again, why we have to go the market, and why he can't stay home alone, then I will carefully read this article, and possibly get discouraged and really, really pissed. A coverup for a cause of Autism? - Scarborough Country -

Monday, June 20, 2005

I am not Fashion's slave. I am more like a thorn in Fashion's side, or Fashion's unkempt cousin.

My backpack purse broke last week, and so I went to Target. I always return to Target. A motto of mine: If you can't find it at Target, maybe you don't need it. There are no more backpack purses. Backpack purses, even the stylish faux leather ones, are out. No doubt I missed the issue of Cosmo that broke the news: "Government study reveals efficiency and convenience of a hands-free purse that can carry wallet, keys, cell phone, chewing gum, a hair brush, band aids, 2 diapers, wet wipes, crayons and a jar of sweet potatoes, is out weighed by need to keep grown women from looking like middle school children with a heavy course load or suburban Sherpas on a Himalayan excursion. Plus the backpack purse makes your butt look bigger."

Holly recorded a critical episode of Oprah for me, and we watched it together. I learned that my bra is the wrong size, and probably the wrong style too. I learned my narrow cut, petite jeans are making me look 10 pounds heavier. I should be wearing tailor cut shirts, A-cut skirts, dark jeans, v-necks. My pants should not come to my waist, and neither should my breasts. My swimsuit can be sexy, without being revealing, and horizontal pleats can fool the eye... when you see me in pleats you will think "Are those pleats, or tummy rolls? Whatever, she looks marvelous."

I can't decide what I need more, a new wardrobe or a personal trainer... let's be honest: I need both. But I think the right attitude can go a long way toward improving one's appearance. So this morning I adjusted my old bra, and tried on some new pants. I stood tall, and ate my light and healthy breakfast. I grabbed my new shoulder purse, plus a separate diaper bag, and my 18 pound baby, and her 7 pound carrier, and I went out in to the world. Looking good. Looking up to date, confidant, hip. We ran some errands, we drove east to take a vehicle for a tune up, we stopped to change diapers and to nurse, and we had lunch at Mister Sushi. Before and After? Let's see... the new pants, low cut for the look of a smaller butt, are leaving me a bit overexposed in the "abs." Maria's feet have popped out all but two of the buttons on my femininely cut shirt. I was staggering through the parking lot, balancing the new purse on one shoulder, Maria, the diaper bag and carseat, and trying to keep track of three boys that "need" to stop at the game store... I looked bad. I looked dragged and pitiful. I had teriyaki sauce on my face, rice in my teeth, yams on my unbrushed hair, drool randomly dispersed. I looked pained by the strain of my fashionable shoulder bag. I looked like a 38 year old mother of 4 with no inclination to work-out 5 days a week and hire a life coach to hold her hand at the mall.

Holly and I, even Geoff, were really impressed with the Oprah Show's before and after views of the women transformed by good fashion sense, and retail styling. They really did look better than they did before their intervention. It seems like I had a point to make... something about being above it all, too independent and self assured to care about fashion, or was it a cry to "bring back the backpack purse?" Maybe my point was that I do believe I could use a better fitting bra. I am most likely without a point.