September 29, 2006

Fashion Friday

This week I had an e-mail from Jillian, and I’m stumped. I know, hard to believe! But there it is. She wrote, “I am currently stationed overseas and have come to realize that most German women have no curves. Where is a good place to order jeans, etc, for a curvy person that don’t cost an arm and a leg?” She added that her soldier husband has suggested that she just wear his old jeans.

I can answer half of Jillian’s question: do NOT wear your husband’s (or boyfriend’s or male roomate’s or brother’s) jeans UNLESS you happen, by some cosmic fluke, to ACTUALLY wear his size. Men’s jeans are fine for the girls–I have friends who swear by them–but for the love of all that is denim, buy your own. There is no rule that says you MUST shop in the women’s department, but it is IMPERATIVE that whatever you buy fit properly. No disrespect to Jillian’s soldier husband (God love him and keep him safe) but no, no, no! His jeans are his jeans, and that’s how it should stay.

In fact, this holds true for pretty much everything in your husband’s closet. Every time I read an article suggesting that you borrow his dress shirts to wear with your ball gown, a la Sharon Stone at the 1998 Oscars, I want to scream. Sharon Stone has an army of stylists getting her ready for events; she could wear a grocery sack and look stunning. The rest of us, however, have only ourselves, and I guarantee you that wearing clothing borrowed from the man in your life will make you look less like a celebrity and more like someone who forgot to do laundry.

Okay, enough said.

Now we get to the part that stumped me: where can Jillian find affordable, curvy jeans that can be shipped to Germany? I suggested gap.com, although I’m not sure about their international shipping policies, but I’m sure you all have other favorite sites. So let’s hear about them! Curvy girls, where are you shopping? And why do you love the sites you love?

I also had an e-mail from the always-lovely Melissa, which I read and responded to and deleted (and then restarted the iBook, thus forever losing the deleted e-mail. Argh). The point, though, was this: Melissa recently cashed in an Ann Taylor gift card. She wound up with a beautiful camisole, a jean skirt, and a necklace. I loved the skirt and LOVED the camisole, but I was the most excited about the necklace (which I can’t find the link to) not specifically because of anything about the necklace but because SHE BOUGHT A NECKLACE.

It’s all about accessorizing, baby.

I am firmly convinced that no one needs a LOT of clothes; what you need are the RIGHT clothes, clothes that work for your body and your lifestyle. Having a closet full of basic pieces that mix and match and FIT makes getting dressed easy. Having a few beautiful accessories makes getting dressed fun.

As with clothes, you don’t need a lot of accessories, and you don’t need to spend a lot on them. I like one-of-a-kind jewelry, so I tend to shop in little galleries rather than department stores, which is honestly not as pricey as it sounds, although it can be hit-or-miss. But recently, I bought a necklace at SuperTarget (on CLEARANCE, even, aren’t you proud?) and I get compliments on it every time I wear it. I also wear my pretend diamond earrings most of the time; I found them at Old Navy for $7.00. SEVEN DOLLARS, people!

Jewelry can make your everyday clothes seem more festive and special. A necklace is a simple way to dress up a t-shirt, as is a pair of dangly earrings (but not together–too much is just TOO MUCH). Necklaces are also good if you have very small children; Melissa was pointing out that her baby is less likely to injure her by pulling on the necklace than, say, on a pair of earrings. Bracelets, if you don’t mind them, are also easy around babies, although they tend to get chewed on. And then there’s my house, where Charlie just wants to WEAR my bracelets all the time. But maybe that’s not a problem for you!

Moving on.

Think about your jewelry like you do your clothes; try not to segregate things into Everyday and Fancy. I have some lovely faux pearls that Wade gave me for my thirtieth birthday; I wear them with a t-shirt and jeans and my suede jacket. In the same way, a funky necklace can be really cool with a cocktail dress. I have jewelry that I wear every day–my mother’s white gold wristwatch, my silver locket bracelet (or my baby names bracelet, which is silver and gold), my wedding rings (gold). I almost always wear earrings. I keep my jewelry where I can find it easily, in case I get the urge to wear something different, but I tend to go for the same pieces all the time, mostly because I get dressed BEFORE I have coffee, so my decision making skills are not really at their best.

It is important, thought, to think about how your jewelry goes with what you’re wearing. A turtleneck calls for small earrings, and for a longer necklace (if any). A boatneck is great for dangly earrings but not for a necklace. Three-quarter length sleeves are perfect for a bracelet. I prefer a choker-length necklace for every day, something that falls right where the crew neck on my t-shirt hits me, but other people like something longer. Think also about color. You can match things (blue beads with a blue sweater) but that can be boring. Mix it up a little; wear the blue beads with a brown t-shirt, or some black beads with your white tee. Have fun with your jewelry.

As with clothes, don’t wear jewelry you’re not comfortable with. Don’t like bracelets? Don’t wear them. Pearls make you feel like June Cleaver? Don’t wear them (unless you like the June Cleaver thing, then have at it). Mixing gold and silver is fine, as long as you do it thoughtfully. If you have one piece that you love, wear it every day. Getting dressed shouldn’t be hard; the idea is to look nice and to FEEL like you look nice.

Okay! So tell me where Jillian can find some jeans, will you?

September 28, 2006

Love Thursday: smelly, scratchy, and snuggly

I bought Henry some new pajamas last weekend, with space ships on them. I stood in front of the display forever, trying to decide between a size 6 and a size 8. Finally, I bought the sixes because the eights seemed like they would be way too big. How could Henry possibly need anything bigger than a size 6?

Charlie may be getting those pajamas soon.

Oklahoma City Zoo, summer 2002

I used to laugh at women who said, “Oh I can hardly remember when my kids were that size,” whatever size it is that your child is now. I would think, how can you NOT REMEMBER this size, this age, this incredible cuteness and snuggliness? But I also thought that all the baby cuteness and snuggliness would go on forever, forgetting, as my friend Nancy says, that our little boys will grow into “smelly, scratchy men” some day.

Some day soon, apparently.

I look at pictures of Henry from three or four years ago, and I’m startled by how little he looks. I have always thought of Charlie as the baby, and I think I forget what a little guy Henry was. I love the big boy he is turning into; I love his laugh and his millions of questions and his quirks. I love that he can name all the planets and can add and subtract in his head and that he writes an R by attaching two legs to a circle.

I love that he looks exactly like the teeny baby they handed me in the delivery room at the same time that he looks like a mini Wade.

I love that my baby is growing up, moving closer to the smelly and scratchy part of his life. But I also love that he has started hugging me again, after not wanting to for what seemed like forever. Because I want the snuggly part to last forever.

Love Thursday is brought to you by Karen and Irene. Links to more Love Thursday posts can be found at their sites.

September 26, 2006

who’s afraid of Arianna Huffington?

I am fascinated by Arianna Huffington, primarily because she is famous solely for being Arianna Huffington. I admire her for her outspokenness and her incredible ability to continuously recreate herself (she’s a Republican! no wait, she’s a Democrat!). She is the founder of the Huffington Post, and currently has a new book out, On Becoming Fearless. I wanted to like this book, I really did. Really.

Huffington’s claim–which I agree wholeheartedly with–is that we live in a culture of fear, and that women are particularly vulnerable to fearmongering. We are constantly barraged by reminders of all the ways we are failing–at home and at work and everywhere in between. Every choice we make is met with criticism and over time, we internalize that critical voice and allow it to control our decisions. We become fearful, and this fear infects our lives. We fear that we are failing our children and our spouses and our parents. We fear that we’re not working hard enough or making enough money. We fear that we are ugly. We fear that we will not succeed, and so we don’t.

“The most common response to this crisis of self is conformity,” Huffington writes in her Introduction. “So, ironically, the woman who appears to be well adapted may be the one who simply has become the most comfortable being governed by her fears, while the ‘neurotic’ one is still gamely struggling to reach her fearlessness.” As I read this, I thought instantly of the minivan driving soccer mom, and of my resistance to that stereotype. I think, in this moment, that Huffington is right; one way of allaying fear–or at least of creating the appearance of allaying fear–is to conform to the group. Once you are part of the group, there is nothing to fear. Except, of course, that the fears don’t vanish once you’re part of the group; they just eat away at you while you drive your minivan to soccer practice. Huffington identifies the places in our lives where we are most likely to be fearful–our relationship with our bodies, for example, or with work or money or love–and offers strategies for overcoming these fears. She looks at other literature in this area and quotes interviews with friends and Huffington Post readers and cites her own personal experiences. She is confident that women can, indeed, become fearless.

I like the idea of this book quite a lot. But the book itself left me puzzled and more than a little irritated. While this is not a Mommy Wars book, it employs that same us-against-them rhetoric. Huffington is critical of women who chose to approach the world in any way that differs dramatically from the one she is advocating here. She writes about an Oscar week party at which she found herself seated next to Hugh Hefner and his entourage, “the three pneumatically endowed platinum blondes on his arm.” She describes them as “horrifying . . . . At some point, they must have been lovely. And most likely, they still would be–but we’ll never know. That level of heavy construction and demolition can never be undone.” I am not a fan of plastic surgery, but I am even less a fan of this rhetoric. What divides women, what keeps us fearful and guilt ridden and angry about our inability to advance and succeed is, often, the criticism of other women, or at least our sense–our fear, if you will–that we won’t measure up in the eyes of other women. I think Huffington has a point about the Playboy bunnies and their desire to recreate themselves as Every Man’s Fantasy, but rather than attacking these young women (and they are young, very very young), I would have preferred she deconstruct the ideal they represent.

Too often, the book devolves into Practical Advice From Arianna, which is of little if any “practical” use in my real life. In the book’s first chapter, Fearless About the Body, Huffington asserts that “we can never really be fearless until we stop judging our looks and accept them.” Agreed; her argument is dead on. But her application falls short, particularly when she advocates solutions such as “Never get up from the table feeling stuffed or guilty, but never get up without feeling satisfied” and “Get enough sleep. . . . I try to get seven to eight hours of sleep a night as often as possible.” Quite honestly, I try to sit down at the dinner table whenever possible and I will take any sleep I can get. Reading about Huffington’s lunch hour hikes with her girlfriends or her yoga practice didn’t really give me any new insight into loving my body; instead, it left me feeling like I needed to get a whole new life, one that included a yoga instructor and a house in the California foothills.

Ultimately, I found this book unsatisfying and frustrating. The myriad references to Huffington’s own life–intended, I imagine, to be enlightening and charming–were incredibly irritating. She writes about her dear friend Sherry Lansing’s gift of a session with the aesthetician Mila Moursi, and goes on to rhapsodize about how “my regular facials include microdermabrasion . . . But even the simplest home facial can cleanse and freshen up our skin and our spirits,” she adds, in what seems to be an afterthought intended to include readers who don’t have a standing appointment with a famous Hollywood aesthetician. Huffington talks about returning phone calls during a seaweed wrap and checking her Blackberry during yoga classes. I tried to imagine what the equivalent of these might be at my house, but all I could come up with was eating M&Ms in the laundry room while the kids watch Clifford. I couldn’t connect with Huffington, although I wanted to; I wanted to feel like there was some real practical take-away message, but it seemed that the message was that when you’re Arianna Huffington, you CAN stop being fearful.

I think Huffington is right: we live in a culture that barrages us with reminders of how we are failing and imbues us with fear. I think that her message–that women CAN overcome fear, that we CAN succeed, personally and professionally, that our lives will be more rewarding if we take risks and make decisions based on what we KNOW not what we fear–is crucial, particularly for young women. But I think there is not enough of that message and too much of Arianna Huffington in this book.

This review is part of BlogHer’s first virtual book tour. You can find more reviews–and get your own review copy of Arianna Huffington’s book–at BlogHer.

more carnage

Do you know what happens when you don’t clean the bubble stuff out of the big container, the no-spill, no-mess kind with a lid and little openings for the bubble wands to poke through? And you leave the bubble container in the yard for, oh, say, the ENTIRE SUMMER, filled with the bubble stuff? Do you KNOW what happens?

I’ll tell you what happens. Bugs of various sorts–flies, mosquitos, roly polies, spiders–become embalmed in the bubble stuff. It’s like a cross between amber and those fancy soaps with the little plastic toys in them. But more disgusting. Like CSI: Miami disgusting.

And then the kids come and BEG to blow bubbles, and you agree because soon it will be cold as hell outside and you will be wishing that they could play in the yard for just ONE HOUR and you open the whole disgusting mess in the kitchen sink (because that’s easier and less messy than doing it outside with the hose while the kids spray each other) and suddenly you are facing a sink full of DEAD BUGS and slimy pieces of bubble soap and you realize that there’s no liquor at all in the house to take the edge off this.

Then, finally, you get the damn container clean and all the bugs ground up in the garbage disposal and you find a bottle of wine waaaaay in the back of the fridge and you take the bubble stuff and the wine outside and the boys are waiting for you. And begging to play baseball.

Moral: the more disgusting something is, the faster kids lose interest. I think.

September 25, 2006

it was a bloodbath! a bloodbath, I tell you!

Charlie woke me at 2:00 am with my Least Favorite Middle-of-the-Night Proclamation Ever, which goes like this: “Mama. MAMA! I have a bleedy nose.” He says it in a very calm, very peaceful middle-of-the-night-appropriate whisper, which means that I stay entirely calm (if mostly asleep) until we get to the bathroom and turn the lights on and I am faced with a four-year-old who looks like an extra from CSI: Miami. (Is it just me or does the Miami version of that series seem to be the most gory? I mean, I know they’re all pretty gross, but Miami seems to be awash in blood and body parts, more so than either Las Vegas or New York City.)

Last night’s bloody nose was a Comedy of Errors and Crankyness unlike anything seen around here lately. I got up with Charlie, cleaned him up, assessed the nose (still bleeding!) and started to apply pressure. The nose stops bleeding, Charlie sniffs hard to see if he can breathe, the bleeding starts again. Charlie gets mad and starts crying. Wade gets up and makes a suggestion; I counter with another suggestion. Neither suggestion is offered in what we like to call a Nice Voice, if you get my drift. I go off to consult with Doctor Google, which involves finding my glasses which are . . . hmm, where ARE my glasses? Doctor Google says to do this but not that, and this OTHER thing but not THAT other thing. All in all, Wade and I were each half right about what to do, which seems to prove that mostly we don’t know what the hell we’re doing. We follow Doctor Google’s advice, the bleeding stops, Charlie and I get into his bed, Wade tucks us in and we all say I love you and we fall asleep.

The end.

Until this morning, when I’m carrying Charlie to the breakfast table and he is snuggling his sleepy head against my shoulder (and the WHITE SHIRT encasing it) and he says sadly, “Look, Mama, I’m bleedy again.”

Dammit.

September 22, 2006

Fashion Friday

alternate title: because I’m siiiiiick, that’s why!

Last night, instead of going to a swank fundraiser with my friend Molly and her husband, I curled up in bed with a family size box of Kleenex and a really boring biography of Fanny Burney and fell asleep at 8:15. Whoo hoo! My outfit was not so much cocktail wear as it was Old Navy yoga pants from five years ago and a souvenir Florida t-shirt that I stole from my dad. Mmmm, sexy.

Did I mention the Kleenex?

My goal for the fundraiser-that-wasn’t was to pull together an outfit WITHOUT buying anything; in other words, I was planning to Shop My Closet and see what I already had, because I KNOW I have all sorts of cocktail party appropriate clothes in there. Somewhere. I love to shop just as much as the next girl, but I’m always a little stressed out by the whole idea of shopping for An Event; I can never find EXACTLY what I want and I typically wind up with something that doesn’t fit right or isn’t comfortable or would look significantly better on someone else. Plus, I tend to wind up going to fancy events at the last minute, which means that often there is no time to really Shop Smart. Finally, there is the whole issue of spending money for clothes that I may or may not wear again any time soon, if ever.

I know you are familiar with all of this.

So let’s talk about how to Shop Your Closet.

You’ll need two bags or boxes, one for Give Aways and one for Tailor/Dry Cleaner. Things that don’t fit go in the Give Away box; things that need to be cleaned or tailored go in . . . you get the idea. This is also a good time to assess your hangers. I like a nice padded hanger for tops and some sturdy plastic or wood hangers for pants. Target has great hanger options for not a lot of money. Toss those dry cleaning hangers; they’re horrible. Horrible! Joan Crawford was right.

Start by trying on everything you own. EVERY SINGLE THING. Set aside an hour (or a day), put on some music, pile the contents of your closet (and your dresser and all those plastic storage boxes) on the bed and work your way through it all. I know, it’s a lot to ask, but how will you know what you have if you don’t know what you HAVE? I suggest that you do this in pieces, starting with bottoms, since that seems to be what everyone always complains about. Put on a neutral t-shirt (white is best) and try on EVERY pair of pants, EVERY skirt, EVERY pair of shorts. Anything that doesn’t zip or cuts off the circulation to your spleen has to go. Anything with a crotch that hangs at your knees or an ass that dips to your calves has to go. Anything stained or pilled or faded or just plain worn out HAS TO GO.

After you’ve done the bottoms, start again with the tops. Try tops with a neutral bottom (khakis or jeans) and the proper undergarments. Bend over to check for excess cleavage; reach up to check for stomach exposure. Check for pit stains on your t-shirts. YES, I SAID IT! Pit stains are NOT stylish. THEY JUST AREN’T.

Do the same with your shoes. Get rid of anything ratty or worn. Have shoes that need new heels resoled. Polish or clean shoes that are dirty. Even if you’re a mom who wears practical flats most of the time, hang on to your sexy shoes (you never know when you might want to feel sexy!), but think twice about keeping those beautiful pumps that make you feel like someone is amputating your toes. Limping isn’t sexy.

Keep only the pieces that fit well AND are in good shape. Set aside anything that needs repairs, and then set a deadline for having them done. I currently have a beautiful black cocktail dress that I wore to my brother’s wedding six years ago, a mere three months after Henry was born. It’s a GREAT dress, the perfect length and with a FANTASTIC neckline and a lovely beaded hem, but it needs to be altered. Right now it’s hanging on the bedroom door with a post-it note with next Friday’s date on it. Either I take it to the tailor by next Friday or it goes in the Give Away bag. Because it’s been in my closet, unwearable, for SIX YEARS. It’s time to take action.

Put the keepers back in the closet. You can use whatever system you like for arranging your clothes–by color, for example, or style or even by outfit–but avoid dividing your clothes into Everyday and Dress-Up. Fashion stylists estimate that the average woman only wears about 30% of her clothes, primarily because we get it into our heads that certain pieces are ONLY for playgroup or ONLY for dress-up. A black tank top can be perfect with a cocktail skirt; a dressy jacket goes nicely with jeans. I have my pants arranged by length (as you know) and the tops by color. I have a nice brocade jacket hanging with my jean jackets (yes, I have multiple jean jackets; shut it). Fold sweaters and t-shirts, as they will stretch if you hang them, but be sure to keep them where you can see them.

Now that you have a whole closet full of clothes that fit and are presentable, try everything on AGAIN, this time with an eye to what goes together. (You might want to do this on another day–sometimes it helps to have a fresh eye. Or a cold martini. Whatever.) Put together complete outfits, INCLUDING shoes; this lets you see what you have and what you need. Do you have a great pair of pants that go with all your tops but no shoes to wear with them? Shop for shoes. Do you have a terrific white blouse but no appropriate bra? Shop for a bra. And so on.

Try different combinations–have a great cocktail skirt? Try it with a fancy sweater and your twinset and a turtleneck and a fitted tee and a tank top and . . . you get the idea. Try EVERYTHING on with your jeans–blouses and sweaters and jackets and tees. Be honest in your assessment–when you bend over, what’s the view like? When you sit down, does the top meet the bottom? Can you REALLY walk in those shoes? Is it a problem if you can’t?

By now, you should have a clear idea both of what you actually HAVE and what you actually NEED, which should help you focus your shopping. I’ve been buying shoes lately, because when I went through my closet I had pants and tops and nothing but flip flops, which really weren’t going to go with my wool trousers. I’ve bought ballet flats and strappy suede wedges and low-heeled, pointy-toed slingbacks. I think I’m good to go now. (It sounds like I’m all done shopping, doesn’t it? Hoo, that’s funny . . . )

My plan for last night was to wear a black v-neck cashmere sweater with a black-and-white silk skirt and a pair of black slingbacks. I rediscovered a cool red bag in the back of my closet last week, the perfect size for a lipstick and a cell phone. I would have looked totally hott.

Instead, I was looking totally feverish, which isn’t the same. But at least I didn’t buy anything new, and I had an outfit that I really like and that I will certainly wear again, when I find myself going to a swank cocktail party at the last second. My schedule is open this weekend, if you’ve got anything in mind.