1. I'm 28. Ok, 28 and a 1/2. By most standards, I'm still somewhat youngish. Alas, somewhere between getting married and having babies, I took a stopover through the town of Frump. It isn't even necessarily that I don't put in the time or effort to look my age (or even presentable) because I feel that even if I DID put forth the effort, I never really allowed myself to develop a sense of style. I suppose if I really think about it, and if you asked someone on the street what my sense of style was, they might say "compound sister wife." Dowdy loose fitting clothing from the clearance rack. Long, mousy hair that is typically tucked back in a floppy bun or low pony tail. Some women lack for time, others for money, and some lack for drive, and even still, some just don't give a shit what they look like. At times I have lingered in all those categories, but obviously this has been gnawing at my heart because over the last few months, I've been stowing and hoarding apparel and product a little at a time. It started with a small splurge on several dresses and Ross (until money isn't an issue, I doubt I'll be hitting up fancy department stores). 5 dresses for a few bucks a piece. Some makeup. A new curling iron. This weekend I bought some polishing spray from Target that promises to make my hair glorious. But if all of a sudden you were to drop a fat wad of cash into my lap to buy a new wardrobe, I wouldn't have the faintest idea where to begin. I work in an office that pretty closely adheres to "Business Casual" attire. I've got two little boys at home, and outside of work you will usually find me crawling around on the carpet (that probably needs to be vacuumed) with them. So, most days at work you can find me in a skirt and blouse (for some reason I had it in my head that this combo flattered my out of shape figure, but recently I discovered that, no, in fact it accentuates the desperate situation my midsection is in) and at home I romp around in jeans and a t-shirt. The clothing/style thing isn't going to work itself out overnight. I'm going to need to spend some time perusing magazines and whatever resources are available online to build up a catalog of what appeals to me. Hopefully I'll finally be able to put Pinterest to use and make a pinboard of what is catching my eye. What I can do in the immediate future is start making a weekly recap blog post of the efforts I put in each day to start moving myself away from the Frump mom category, and closer to the... well... Cute mom? Cool Mom? Young and Hip mom category? That sounds about right.
A little less this:
2. Ugh. Groan. Sigh. My house. My house that I simultaneously adore and loathe. On the one hand, it is kind of cool that we are renting, so when I finally get fed up with the shitty shitiness of this place, we can just pack up our crap and go. But on the other hand, this old cookie cutter POS has its charm. You just have to look really hard past the tape falling from the patio cover, and the warped cabinets in the kitchen. The trees that have been totally wack and out of control since before we even moved in (yet the landlord expects us to pay to fix...). But still, the blank walls, lack of personality (outside of the personality that already existed before we got here) is pretty much my fault. I haven't taken the time to make any place Josh and I have called "home" actually look like one. I'm going to tie this back into issue # 1, which is the sheer lack of idea of what the hell my style is. My sister's house is pretty, but it totally isn't my style (it does look like a model home). I love retro, and cozy, and beach cottage. My brain hurts even trying to think of a way to mesh that together. I think I can have a cozy retro home, or a cozy beach cottage, but not all three, lol. Again, I shall look towards Pinterest, and my plan is to tackle one project a week to make this place a little less rental shanty, and a little more "home."
3. Mikey still isn't potty trained. Argh. I'm probably breaking every rule other there at this point. Bribery and positive reinforcement didn't work, so today we tried "you aren't getting off the toilet until you poop." As it turned out, the poor little dude is stopped up, so that plan backfired. There goes my mother of the year award. Luckily Mikey forgives faster than anyone I know, and he still let me read him Dumbo at bedtime. I'll load him up with fiberous vegetables for the next few days, and hopefully that will help make things happen. Or I might just have to resort to my old methods:
4. Mikey and Johnny are, like, the best brothers ever. Really - I just want to eat their faces when they insist on being all sorts of precious.
(Ok, Mikey really just was mad that Johnny figured out how to get on his dump truck, and was trying to slide his way in, hoping that Johnny would fall over easily, but Johnny has a grip that is no joke. Little dude was not budging.)
That is all for this evening. I suppose I better get a head start on trying not to look like shit, which means washing and blowdrying my hair at night, rather than sleeping on it wet. Eeek.
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