Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Leopard After 30

There’s been a list going around for the last six or so months that recently popped back up in my Facebook feed. It’s 24 Things Women Should Stop Wearing After Age 30. When it first showed up I ignored it, then it popped up again. Maybe it’s my impending birthday (where I will be continuing to push into the tick of my 30s) but today I saw it and it really pissed me off.

Let’s examine some of the things that apparently expire one magic day when we pass a line on the calendar.

Graphic tees – Seriously? Cause on the weekend that’s pretty much all I wear. My love of Guns ‘n’
Leopard through the ages
Roses or my new Vampira t-shirt blazon their logos across my chest for all to see. Paired with a pair of Converse (old sneakers are also on the list) and some comfy jeans and I’m ready for a day at the park chasing screeching toddlers who are somehow covered in dirt before they even get out of their stroller.

Leopard print – Screw you stupid writer (I refuse to name her and give her additional publicity). Just because you put it on the list I am going to cover my 30-something mom ass in head to toe leopard. In fact I just ordered a leopard print cardigan today AND I plan to wear it to the office, so suck it.

Furry anything (this was preceded by furry boots which I’m pretty sure aren’t a thing anymore) – I am a huge fan a faux fur and believe that strategically placed fur collars or detailing can really make an outfit. Then there’s faux fur coats and wraps that just reek of old Hollywood glamour if you do it right. Maybe that’s the writer’s problem, she has no sense of style.

Hoop earrings – Apparently they’re just for high school kids. I’ll be sure to tell my mother that. Oh, and my mother in law. She'll give you an ear full about your opinion on her hoop earrings. And all the stores ever. In fact, I just got a great pair of colored lucite hoops from Banana Republic. Apparently they were there for the teenagers since that’s such a hip store for the under 20s crowd.

Oversize sunglasses – Is there really another kind? My sunglasses are all reminiscent of Jackie O.
My over 30 feet are the ones in leopard
and are about the size of my face. So are everyone else’s sunglasses. Even eyeglasses are getting this big. Do they even sell a smaller size?

Short dresses, miniskirts and crop tops – You won’t see me in any of these things, but I have seen quite a few 30-somethings rock the hell out of a miniskirt or crop top. Sure, it’s usually the ones who spend a few hours a week at the gym, but if you do that and have rock hard abs at 32, show them off in that crop top.

There’s a myriad of other things on the list, some of which is a fashion crime for any age (platform flip flops, scrunchies and shorts that aren’t longer than your vagina) and other than that the list is just a scared 20 something with approximately zero concept of fashion and personal style (blue eye shadow can totally be a thing). She’s also obviously not yet 30 and is assuming that the second we pass out of our 20s our once nubile bodies pop out a couple kids and start to sag. We lose all concept of fashion sense and need to turn in our mini dresses and anything with sparkles and fur for mom jeans and plain tees.

Shit, if I took all the sparkles, fur, graphics and leopard out of my closet I’d have almost nothing left to wear.

At the end of the day does it really matter though? Being 30 shouldn't be about what you can't wear, but instead everything you can. By 30 you're an adult and over the mean girl bullshit and approval seeking. So wear what makes you happy, except maybe platform flip flops. Those things really are inexcusable. 

Monday, June 22, 2015

Shoefully Ignorant

I love shoes. It turns out buying them for my girls is as fun as when I buy them for myself. I am also already dreading the day when they get an opinion and stop letting me pick out the ones I like best.

My girls only had gym shoes, which worked great this spring, but I needed to get them ready for summer, so a few weeks ago we piled into the car, drove to the mall, piled out (seriously do you have any idea what goes into taking twins to a mall?) and wandered into the nearest mall.

The new shoes getting ready to jump into action at the park.
Of course the store I wanted to go to was on the opposite side of where I came in, so we schlepped across the mall with all the people stopping to point, yelling out things like “Are they twins?” and “Oh my god, how do you do it?” (double stroller people) and went to Stride Rite.

Lucky me they were having a sale on sandals, but of course only a limited selection. We picked out one style for both girls, and then literally as I am being rung up I chickened out and asked for a different pair of shoes for one of the girls.

“Do you have these in either of their sizes?” I asked holding up a silver sandal (of course their feet are different sizes). Somehow I just knew that if I got the girls the same shoes I’d end up screwing up the sizes. One would end up wearing two left shoes, or each would have one 4.5 and one 4. It would be a disaster. I’d be forever trying to check sizes while wrestling shoes onto baby feet.

Of course I explain all this to the sales associate in a suddenly panicky new mom voice as she very courteously switches out the shoes and rings up the new pair. She laughs and tells me about tricks she’s heard other parents do so that doesn’t happen. They put stickers in the shoes and the kids can match them up, the keep them in the box, teach the kids to read the numbers on the inside… a whole host of things that I hadn’t thought of. (That sticker thing is really clever).

How am I suddenly a shoe novice when it comes to kids? With adult shoes I know everything. I can answer any question. I can tell you how well pitched a shoe is by looking at it, accurately estimate comfort on a variety of styles for men and women, and solve most issues, but when it comes to kids shoes I obviously have no clue what in the living hell I am talking about.

After a short lunch where I was stared at, pointed at and heard people whisper things under their breath, the girls and I packed up again (I’m like a mule at this point) and went out to the parking lot, where we got stopped again by no fewer than four more people, most of whom asked if they were twins. We loaded up into the car and started driving home.

This little piggy escaped. 
Halfway through an otherwise quiet ride home D started to fuss. Then it got louder. Then I realized it didn’t sound quite right. Of course I’m on the expressway driving 60 mph in weekend traffic with a bazillion cars around, my girls are rear facing, D is directly behind me and I can’t see what’s making her whine and scream in a way that doesn’t sound dire, but it’s obvious she’s not happy.

As soon as I pull off the expressway (it’s a short drive) I pull into a parking lot, unbuckle and flip around to find that she has pulled her new sandals halfway off and her big toe is sticking out. By the point she has stopped fussing and is just looking at me, vaguely pissed that her shiny new shoes are not doing whatever it was she was trying to do with them (probably take them off).

If I was a seasoned mom I probably would have seen this coming. I would have known that no center strap allows them to pop their toes out, but instead I am first time mom on all things, including shoes. Change the age of the wearer and I’m totally lost. I know nothing about children’s shoes, and I have two little ones to buy for. That’s lots and lots of shoes, so I guess I’ll be an expert soon enough. The I did what every great mom does when their child is whining in discomfort over having an escaped toe.

I took a picture.

Full disclosure: I am in no way affiliated with Stride Rite and bought their shoes all by myself. 

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

Tales from the Bath

After working 40+ hours a week, commuting, being a mom, a wife, doing some kind of sad excuse for housework (does folding laundry that’s been sitting in the dryer for 2 days count?) and various other crap that makes me who I am, I stare at my closet full of clothes (many of which are too big or too small) and my new collection of shoes, some of which were bought with the intention of running after toddlers, and I think “Who the fuck am I?”.

Last night I was giving the girls a bath and we made shampoo mohawks, played with rubber ducks and splashed until they managed to start splashing water outside the tub and were turning into squawking baby prunes. S finally demanded “Up” which is universal for any position other than the one she’s currently in (down, off, out, and sometimes actually up) and we started drying off.

With two babies you can imagine that there’s some kind of madness that goes along with getting them bathed, dried off and diapered.
“Don’t stand in the tub.”
“Don’t run around naked”
“Stop touching the toilet.”
“Please don’t pee.”
“Please get back in the bathroom and don’t pee on the hardwood.”
“Quit playing in the trashcan.”
“Get that out of your mouth.”
“Christ, what is that in your mouth?”

Once everyone is successfully diapered we move along to lotion. Apparently babies can dry out easily, and no one wants a dry baby, so there are scads of baby lotions out there, some of which are better than others. My girls personally prefer ones in bottles that they can hold and preferably put in their mouth, while I prefer ones that are heavy and have a pump because they don’t put it in their mouth and can’t yet work it.

Baby bath essentials. Oh, and rubber ducks.
So many freaking ducks. 
Yesterday as I was dutifully lotioning the babies after diapers and before pajamas S was insistent on holding the whole bottle of lotion. Insistent to the point where she does that toddler scream if you try to take it away from her, and since we already had a meltdown when I told her to stop drinking bath water, I wasn't ready for another. So I let her hold it, but to keep her from yelling every time I got some from the bottle, I had to talk. So I say what every normal parent says in that situation.
“It puts the lotion on its skin…”

My kids are going to be so fucked up. Yes, we’re quoting Silence of the Lambs as part of our post-bathtime rituals. Whatever. It’s better than letting her play in the toilet or drink bath water, and she hasn't seen the movie so she has no idea what I'm referencing.

And by the way, I want to slap the person who says that baths calm babies and should be part of a nightly soothing routine. Obviously that person didn't have twins. Or toddlers. Hell, that person may have not even had kids. It was probably a marketing exec at Johnson & Johnson pitching some bullshit about lavender bath soap. But that’s fine because my twins and I have bath time down to something fun. Or at least fun for them. I just get to quote creepy movies and hope they don't repeat it when they start preschool.