Friday, March 27, 2015

Sweatpants, Jeans, Divorce and Humor

These are not pretty or flattering.
I've decided this week it’s a good thing I’m not a celebrity.

I mean it’s unfortunate because if I was I’d have a lot more money and would be able to do things like see my kids for more than an hour a day and go to the gym, but it’s good because the world would think I am a complete an utter bitch (which I can be, but part of that is also an Olympic case of bitchy resting face). But I already have enough problems saying what I think and having an overly dry sense of humor, and in today's humorless society, that would not go over well. That means I get to leave the funny comments to real celebs, who will then be jumped all over by a humorless Internet full of people grasping their Starbucks cups and pretending they're going to yoga right after this last Facebook post.

Case in point, Eva Mendes who said sweatpants cause divorce.

Good for her. They’re horrid things that don’t look good on anyone and aside from being comfy, have no redeeming value. For me they aren't even comfy because my ultra sensitive skin is allergic to the fuzzy inside of sweat-anything and I get a rash. Seriously. Sweatpants literally give me a rash. And apparently are a cause for divorce. We should burn them all.

Giant P.S. to the entire world; Eva was freaking kidding. It was a joke.  And, in my opinion, a funny one. Everyone who isn’t a total asshole knows that sweatpants don’t cause divorce (I’m not naming names, but you can do a search and find the assholes). Being a total asshole can be a cause of divorce, growing apart, an affair with the pool boy, the nanny, the neighbor, stress, money…all these things have been cited as reasons for divorce, but sweatpants, never.

She just rolled out of bed.
On the other hand, if you’re lazy and never leave the house and wear sweatpants all the time, maybe there is a deeper psychological issue playing out here. And ladies, I’m not just talking to you. This whole sweatpants thing goes for guys too. Christ people, you’re grownups. Put on some real pants to leave the house and leave the athletic gear to the gym and varying sports (and yes, this includes yoga pants).

A couple days later, Mendes was criticized again for saying that she dislikes jeans and finds them uncomfortable. The internet was on fire with chatter about another thing she hates that’s a staple of Americana. And again, I wonder why anyone gives a shit.

First, the woman can wear a paper bag and look better than most of us on our best days. Second, who gives a shit if she likes skirts more than jeans? Sometimes skirts are more comfortable than jeans, and when you have an ass it’s hard to find jeans that fit properly.

So internet, take a chill pill and stop getting your panties in a bunch over the fact that Eva Mendes doesn’t like your sweatpants or jeans. Instead why not march into your closet and putting on a pair of big boy or girl pants (or a skirt) and dress like an adult for once. And if your closet is void of anything other than sweatpants and jeans, it’s time to go shopping and buy some adult clothes. 

Monday, March 23, 2015

Spring Fail

I think in past years I have blogged about how I epically fail at spring fashion.  Something about the bright colors, airy fabric and colors (yes, it’s worth mentioning twice) that are really a problem. By the time summer rolls around I spend my days in variations of black skirts, dresses and cigarette pants with sunglasses firmly planted on my face until it cools down to fall.

This year I have my girls and their bright, pastel infused, happy looking baby wardrobe to highlight
So happy and pink.
my epic fails at spring. They have a dress covered in a pink tailed mermaid paired with hot pink leggings. I am in black leggings and a short sleeved burgundy sweater and ankle boots. Denim dress with floral leggings for them, black pants with a black top and a leopard infinity scarf for me.  I even went out and bought a pair of leopard loafers for the spring and summer that can be easily slipped on and worn to chase children all over the place, but they’re pony hair (which is probably why they were on sale) and that’s really not very spring or summer.

I have another pair of loafers but they’re velvet.  My one pair of sandals is a three inch platform wedge and not really conducive to running errands while carting babies during the summer months.  Apparently it’s not just my clothes that need spring and summer help, but my shoes too.  If the girls wore shoes I’m sure they would be seasonally appropriate and cute.

Am I suddenly a fashion failure because of my kids, or are their bright colors and flamingo covered jumpers just highlighting the total and utter lack of color in my wardrobe?  Have I really spent all previous summers on this plant covered in black, traipsing around in sky-high wedges, sunglasses as big as my face and a smear of red lipstick that threatened to melt off my face in the searing Chicago summer heat?

Yes. That’s exactly what happened. And after taking a look at my closet full of black sun dresses, tank tops, cotton skirts and cigarette pants, I’ve decided that’s not going to change anytime soon. In fact, I just ordered new black cat-eye sunglasses from Betsey Johnson and had my manicure done in medium gray.  So come on over spring and summer. I look forward to spending another sweaty, sun drenched season avoiding color and acting like a vampire while enjoying your beaches under a canopy in SPF 50 (and a black swim suit) while my girls discover their love of sand, sun and all warm weather things in covered in hot pink mermaids and pastel polka dots.

Writers note: It just snowed in Chicago. Pretty sure I can keep wearing all black for a few more weeks. Apparently spring isn't coming to Chicago this year. 

Saturday, March 7, 2015

Learning to Share

Having twins means they fight over a lot of things. They haven't really gotten to the sharing part, but they do steal from each other, make the other one cry, and then fight about it (even if there's two of the same toy).  This week they decided to start sharing when they shared the stomach flu.

Wednesday I got up, nursed them and then started to put them back in their cribs when D made a noise and I heard a splash like she spit up. I turned her around and after a couple "urp" noises she vomited all over me. It was them that I saw the dark shadow of vomit that was all over her crib. And then she puked on me again. 

I woke up hubby, who wasn't really happy to see me holding a baby and covered in vomit at 5:30 in the morning. The urping started again and I ran into the bathroom with D and stood her in front of the toilet. It was when she started playing with the seat that I realized babies don't understand the toilet, let alone throwing up into it. Instead she was deposited into an empty bathtub to be hosed off and cleaned by dad while I stripped and remade the crib. Once back in the the crib she went right back to sleep. 

My laundry room is not this clean. 
I, on the other hand, had to shower baby vomit off me and get into a suit to go downtown for a can't miss work event. Husband stays home with them every day anyway, so he takes pukey and her sister and keeps me updated on things like vomit, diaper output and how many outfits they went through via text. 

When I got home all was well, there was no more puke, everyone was happy, got a bath, and I did a giant load of laundry. 

Thursday morning everyone is vomit free at the 5:30 feeding, and despite running late I feel like I'm winning when I get in the shower and don't have to wash baby vom off myself. I rush around like an asshole, realize the shoes I want are in a drawer at the office (I think), pick other shoes because I'm not going to the office and get out the door only a little late. 

First text of the morning informs me that S woke up in a crib full of vomit. Awesome. 

Thursday was four or five more outfits, more crib bedding, and when I came home the house smelled like baby poop because they have been going through diapers like shitting is an Olympic sport. I took off my suit before touching anyone, and relived a somewhat bedraggled looking husband. Changed some more diapers, did more laundry, fed babies, took out all the garbage in the house and sprayed eveything with Lysol.  And I'm still convinced I got the easy part of dealing with this flu.

Hubby should get a medal for what he deemed a 48 hour flu. Instead he got the flu. Then I got the flu. In fact, this post was delayed more than a day because I was busy emptying the contents of my stomach and generally feeling like death warmed over.

This is their first time sharing, and they did it with everyone in the house.  Now if you'll excuse me, I have more laundry to do.