Tag Archives: fashion

The Highly Experimental Nature of Life: Polygamy, Yoga Pants & Money

Brady Williams and his Five Wives. If you are Mormon, please forgive me for watching this show. Or better yet, feel free to mention Southern Charm to me. It has that same cringe-worthy quality AND it takes place in my hometown.

Brady Williams and his Five Wives. If you are Mormon, please forgive me for watching this show. Or better yet, feel free to mention Southern Charm to me. It has that same cringe-worthy quality AND it takes place in my hometown.

So, have you seen this show My Five Wives? No? Let me fill you in. They were Fundamentalist Mormons, but then, they left their church, and so, now, they are just polygamists with no religious affiliation. One man. Five women. And their 24 children. One big happy household—only they don’t seem all that happy to me, but that’s beside the point.

I watched an entire season hoping they—the Williams Family–would reveal the reason they left their church. I wanted the dirt, but even in that end-of-season tell-all, they only touched on it—by their account, they are socially more progressive than their former church. That’s it. I find that a little anti-climactic—and pretty normal, don’t you?

People frequently leave the churches they grew up in because they discover the church is either too liberal or too conservative for their taste. It happens all the time. What’s interesting to me about this particular family is that they changed their collective mind—or collectively changed their minds—about their church, but now what? Where do they go from here? Can they end a 20 year marriage just because they are no longer a part of a church that condones and encourages polygamy? And what about all those kids? “Sorry, kids. You are only here because we used to believe that polygamy leads to Salvation and birth control leads to Hell. We’ve decided that ain’t true after all.” Actually, I’m sure they don’t feel that way. I’m sure they love all their children, and that’s what makes everything about their situation even harder.

The dilemma of the Williams family has me thinking a lot about the highly experimental nature of life. You try something, and if it works for you, you keep it. If not, you move on. Of course, this works better with experiments that require less of a commitment than five marriage and 24 children. I was thinking more along the lines of buying a different brand of dish soap because it is on sale. You try it and if you like it, it replaces your old brand. If you don’t like it, you just don’t buy it again.

I am currently engaged in some experiments that lie somewhere between polygamy and dish soap. Okay, everything—EVERYTHING—I might try is closer to dish soap than polygamy. Everything.

And I am sure the Williames didn’t think of polygamy as an experiment when they committed to it. Still, jumping from their situation to my own is simply how my mind works. I don’t really consider anyone’s religious beliefs to be an experiment—even if they are subject to change.

The first of my experiments involves work-out clothes and a theory. Recently, I’ve noticed a lot of women wearing what I consider gym-clothes while running errands. Target. Grocery stores. Gas stations. Doctors’ offices. And maybe—just maybe—they are on their way to or from the gym, but I have a theory based on the appearance of these women. They all seem to have great posture—like they are standing up a little straighter and are more conscious of their movements. And they all seem a little more energetic than the general population. I think that wearing gym-clothes makes people feel healthier and so they behave healthier. I have no scientific proof to back that up—it’s just a general observation.

And it’s an interesting observation coming from me because it’s well documented that I hate exercise: Here. And here. And I have a tendency to compartmentalize my wardrobe. My going-out clothes are reserved for going out. My church clothes go to church only. And that black dress I wore to my mother-in-law’s funeral? It’s hanging in my closet and will likely remain there until I go to another funeral.

If you see me wearing sneakers, yoga pants, and a sports bra, I am exercising. Expect me to start running laps or break into an aerobics routine. I know. I’m not very creative when it comes to fashion, but that’s just me. Since forming this theory, however, I’ve spent entire days in my gym clothes, and I was right. I stood taller, moved faster, and ate less.

At one point, I thought I might want to wear nothing but gym clothes for an entire month, but vanity and fear of complacency got the best of me. I don’t have a lot of cute, trendy workout clothes. I have old cross-trainers that need replacing; faded, black yoga capris; and sports bras that I wear under t-shirts. I look a little sloppy in this outfit. Sure, I really did feel healthier and more athletic when wearing it—until I passed a mirror. Even if I had a lot of cute, new exercise clothes, I’m not sure that I will ever be the woman who can pull it off.

As for the fear of complacency, I know myself well enough to realize that the novelty would wear off and eventually, I wouldn’t get that bounce from the clothes if I wore them every day. I’d do better to make a smaller commitment—maybe twice a week. Around the house.

My next experiment is all about money. My husband and I have gone to an all-cash budget for the summer, but we used May as a test. Basically, I get a lump sum every two weeks and I divide it into envelopes—Groceries, Gas, Kids, Household Misc., Childcare, and Me. If I run out of cash in any one envelope, that’s just too bad. There’s no whipping out a credit card or going to an ATM. We just have to wait until the next payday.

I am surprised that I like this system, but I really, really do. Why?

  • We are talking about money for the first time. Here’s the thing I have noticed about couples—they either talk about money OR they don’t. They either fight about money OR they don’t. We were a don’t-talk-about-it and don’t-fight-about-it couple for the first eight years of our marriage. I think we both feared that talking about it would lead to fighting. Since starting our all-cash budget, we are talking AND keeping those conversations about money up-beat. It feels like we are a team and we are tackling the same problem, and since we are being pro-active, the general mood of the money-talks is hopeful and optimistic, not combative.

  • I have Me money. Since becoming a stay-at-home-mom, I’ve felt self-conscious about spending money on myself. I know that not every stay-at-home-mom feels that way and spouses are entitled to each other’s paychecks, but put yourself in my shoes. I was 40-years-old when my first child was born. I spent a lot of time in the work-force and I was used to having my own paycheck. I’m allowed to feel a little awkward about spending the money that doesn’t have my name on it.With the all-cash budget, I have an envelope with my name on it. So, if I want something for me, I go into the envelope and get the cash without thinking, “Oh, gee, I can’t spend money on myself.”

  • The all-cash system is a very visual way to teach kids about money. The other day, my daughter asked me to take her to get her hair cut because if she could get 1/32 of an inch trimmed from her hair weekly, she would. I pulled out the envelope marked Kids, showed her the contents, and said, “Okay, this is ALL the money you have until next month. If I take you to get your hair cut today, it will cost this much,” and I removed a $20 from the stack. “Do you still want a haircut?” And ta-da! The lightbulb went on! She understood that money is a finite resource.

  • This budget is experimental. We’ve committed to it through the summer. At the end of August, we will revise it as needed or move onto something else.And there will be revisions! I’ve already discovered some flaws in the plan. For example, I don’t have an envelope for gifts. We were invited to a birthday party, and I had this big internal debate about which envelope to use for purchasing a water-bazooka for the birthday boy. I made an unconventional choice—Groceries. Why? Because I had plenty of overage in that envelope and they would be feeding us at the party. So, we were exchanging a toy for food? No, not really, but the Kids envelope was getting kind of thin.

The third experiment is something I am still contemplating: A screen-less week. That’s right. No computer, no Internet, no television, no LeapPad for a full seven days. Will our family of four survive such a week?

I don’t watch much TV—only Downton Abbey and reality shows about polygamy—and so I would not go into television withdrawal. I’m not so sure that the rest of the family would fare so well. If I can get my husband to go along with this plan, he will likely do more reading. The children will likely do more home-demolition—‘cuz I don’t watch TV, but I do use it as a babysitter. Just ask me about the PBS morning line-up.

The Internet? Ew. That’s trickier.

I post on Facebook almost daily, and I have a group of friends from Baby Center.com. I chat more with them than I do with people I see in person. Still, I’m sure I could go a week or longer without that interaction. After all, I have given up social networks for Lent successfully.

No Internet at all, however? Geez. When is the last time I used a phone book to find a number or an address? Do I even know where my phonebook is? And e-mail! Mostly, my email in-box is filled with ads—everything from preservation organization memberships to Viagra—but sometimes, occasionally, someone sends me something worth reading or seeing, and just sometimes, those messages warrant a response. I guess the thing to do is to tell everyone I know that if they need to get in touch with me, they should pick up a phone and call. An out-going email message stating that I’m taking a little break from the screen is probably a good idea, too.

So, it’s do-able and it might be interesting to see what I learn about myself and my family. And really that’s what all this experimentation is about for me—learning.

Hmmm…it has nothing to do with polygamy after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Children Are Inherently Tacky. Sorry. It’s The Truth.

Please insert one of these symbols in all the appropriate places. Without them, I'm sure I am in violation of something. Thanks!

Please insert one of these symbols in all the appropriate places. Without them, I’m sure I am in violation of something. Thanks!

Children are inherently tacky. If you are thinking, “MY children aren’t tacky. They have impeccable taste in everything,” please stop reading my blog and go back to Pinterent.

The truth is that when left to make their own choices about fashion, they come up with some pretty odd combinations:  tutus and combat boots, plaid with polka-dots, socks with sandals and so on. And there is nothing wrong with that. I know a few homeschoolers who dress in Halloween costumes and bathing suits year round, and I’ve seen kids wear super-hero capes and bedroom slippers to church.

I figure that most parents give and receive the same great advice at some point—Choose your battles. And honestly, if your child is a kind human-being who is treating other people with respect, I don’t really care what they are wearing. You have chosen your battles well.

I try not to play fashion-police with my own children, and so far, clothes haven’t been a real issue for us. My daughter wears what I lay out for her—even on weekends. She’s just not that into clothes and when I don’t select an outfit for her, she stays in her pajamas and uses, “But you didn’t pick my clothes for me yet” as her excuse. It’s kind of surprising coming from an otherwise independent spirit.

My son, however, does want to choose his clothes and he has definite opinions. He likes shirts with stripes or dogs. He wears jeans, not sweatpants. Socks must be the same color as his shirt. Sweaters must be soft, and he prefers boots—even in the summer. In general, he’s picky about his clothes, but he is also very conservative, too.

So, it is curious to me that décor is a battleground issue for us. You see, my son wants a “bedroom make-over” for his birthday, and before you think that it is an odd request for a four-year-old, you should know that his sister got one for her birthday. I needed to replace the curtains in her bedroom and so I did. I also hung pictures and rearranged her furniture. Since I had to move all that stuff, I vacuumed, dusted, and sorted toys and books. I bought ladybug decals and decorated her walls and closet door. She loved it! She was especially excited about the pink curtains.

Pink curtains. Deep sigh. I hate them. I don’t have anything against pink, for the most part. I’m just not crazy about it as décor. In fact, when purchasing these curtains, I really wanted to buy blue. Her walls are yellow. Her bedspread is purple, and these colors are tied together by the floral design on her rug—it’s off-white with purple, yellow, pink, light brown, and blue. She also has a large blue, hand-crafted butterfly kite over her bed, and most of the artwork has a mixture of deep purples, blues, and pinks with some other colors mixed in. The curtains I was replacing were a dark blue and while the color was fine, they didn’t really fit the windows right. I had purchased them nine years ago for the living room in my apartment, and so, they never really looked right in her room.

So, I wanted blue, but I bought pink because I knew she would like them. “It’s her room,” I rationalized. “Give her what you know she would like.” And in the end, the pink was a smart choice. She loves them, and I don’t hate them as much as I thought I would.

Now, my son wants a bedroom make-over as a “surprise.” His sister was truly surprised when she came home to a new room, but he is not only requesting a make-over, he has told me what he wants—specifically. He wants blue curtains, light blue.

Hmmm, I was planning to go with red or dark blue because his walls are light blue and I feel like we need some contrast. Also, any light-blue curtains I can just buy at Target are probably going to clash with the wall color. I suppose a more motivated mom might paint the walls. I’m not that mom.

So, here’s the dilemma: Do I go with what I know he wants versus what I think will look good? That’s what I did for his sister, but at least the pink with the yellow walls creates some contrast. Is this a battle I should choose? I mean, if he wanted to wear to clashing blues, I’d let him. I’d be okay with that, but we don’t change curtains as often as we change clothes. Whatever I buy, we are stuck with for a long time.

I had a similar inner-battle over his birthday party theme. We’ve rented the party room at a nature center, a place he loves, and I figured we would buy animal paper plates, an animal piñata, and do some sort of animal-themed game. He loves animals and so, this is perfect, right?

“Mom, I want a rocket piñata.”

“A rocket? But your party is at the nature center.”

“Yep, I want a rocket piñata.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have a nature-themed piñata? An animal, maybe?”

“No. I like rocket piñatas.”

Side note about the piñata obsession: I’m responsible for that. I bought one for my daughter’s second birthday and they have been the consistent birthday party fixture for us ever since. I think I could forget the cake and my children would be fine with that, but until they have beaten the hell out of a paper sculpture and sprayed the floor with candy, it isn’t a party, and choosing the perfect piñata is always a big deal to them. Last year, my son had a shark piñata. We got two years of parties out of my daughter’s Scooby-do piñata. And yes, I realize this is such a first-world problem. Please don’t comment on how spoiled my kids are. Thank you.

If left to do his own party-planning, my son would still hold this party at the nature center, but he would eat Toy Story-themed cake served on St. Patrick’s Day plates, and break open a rocket piñata before stuffing candy into Cars-themed bags. The table cloth might feature Dora the Explorer or jack-o-lanterns or kittens and puppies, but I’m somewhat certain that they wouldn’t match the napkins. Why? Because he is a child and despite his need for his socks to coordinate with his shirt, he is inherently tacky.

The rocket piñata request had me wondering how other parents do it. When I worked at the aviation museum, almost every child’s birthday party we hosted had an aviation theme. Some parents even cut the sandwiches into the shape of little, tiny airplanes and made invitations that looked like boarding passes. Kids never noticed, but all the other adults were impressed.

Still, I decided that it’s not about impressing other grown-ups. It’s about kids—in particular the birthday child—having fun. It’s his party and so, what he wants, goes—within a reasonable budget, of course. I will put my desire for cute kid-party aside and go with tacky. This is what I told myself.

And what did he choose? Solid blue plates and napkins, dessert-themed animals as cupcake toppers, and a turtle piñata. Turtle! Turtle piñata! Turtle—like the animals at the nature center, not cartoon, crime-fighting, pizza-eating turtles! A victory without a battle!

Okay, so back to the curtains. I think I’m going to have to go with what I want on this one. I’ll also surprise him with a Batman poster or maybe a rocket decals—something I know he will like.

 

 

 

 

 

An Internal Argument in Favor of Funeral Attire–especially if it can be worn somewhere besides funerals

Here I am--ready for a funeral or a night out on the town. Actually, I've never worn hoop-skirt, and that's a little surprising.

Here I am–ready for a funeral or a night out on the town. Actually, I’ve never worn hoop-skirt, and that’s a little surprising.

It’s my mother-in-law’s birthday. How old is she? I don’t really know. We are certain that upon coming to the US, she altered her birth certificate to make herself younger. Her brother says she knocked nine years off her age. Nine years! That’s almost a decade and the kind of ballsy move I would expect from her. I think we should all just subtract nine years from our own ages in honor of her.

And because she is a thorough person–and clearly had no fear of God or the Roman Catholic Church, she also altered the Record of her Baptism to reflect her new age. You couldn’t have been baptized in 1924 if you weren’t born until 1933, right? It makes sense to me!

Yesterday, she was quite lucid and talkative. I mentioned that today is her birthday, and she said, “Yes, I know.” So, I asked, “How old are you, Mom? Want to tell me?” “No. N-O. No.”

So, her age has remained a carefully guarded secret since she arrived in the US more than sixty years ago. We don’t know if my late father-in-law even knew, and that’s okay. I’m sure he didn’t mind not knowing or keeping her secret—which ever the case was. They were great friends and I can see this being a bit of a game for them, one of those special things that makes a couple a couple.

I don’t think we did much to celebrate individual birthdays last year. I remember that we—my mother-in-law, my husband, our children and I went to a Japanese steakhouse in honor of our January birthdays. Yep, three-fifths of the birthdays in our household happen in January. The staff at the restaurant sang to all of us, and they treated my mother-in-law like a queen, and perhaps this is a rant/blog entry for another time, but in general, I’ve noticed that people from other cultures are more likely to address her directly than white folks are. Just sayin’. She said very little, ate even less, and mostly looked perturbed throughout our hibachi dining experience.

The other thing that I remember about her birthday last year is that I was at the mall—looking for a gift for her—and I found myself looking at dresses for me, and at some point, I began having an internal argument over whether I should buy myself a particular dress.

Practical Me said, “Oh, look at this! Black! We need a black dress for her funeral.”

Sentimental Me answered, “Put it down. We are not buying a dress to wear to her funeral on her birthday! That is sick, morbid, and TERRIBLE for you to even think that, so put the black dress down, and look for happy clothes. Happy, happy, happy. Pretend we are going on a cruise or something.”

Practical Me said, “Get a grip, girly! It’s in our size and it’s 70% off! Like it or not, we need to be funeral-ready. You wanna go ‘grief-shopping’ the day before a funeral? That’s never a pleasant experience, is it?”

Then, Practical Me dragged Sentimental Me into the dressing room, and I eventually left the mall with two black dresses. One is a long-sleeved wool blend and the other is sleeveless and light. I am funeral-ready, and I have been for a full year.

Practical Me was right in the sense that I did know people who died last year and I did attend funerals—just not my mother-in-law’s. I still haven’t worn either of those dresses I bought a year ago, however. I wore my gray suit to one funeral and a black linen shirt dress to another. Perhaps the Sentimental Me is subconsciously saving the new dresses for my mother-in-law’s funeral because we know how she loved and appreciated new clothes. That gray suit is at least ten years old, and I don’t even remember when I bought the shirt dress! I’m a little shocked both still fit me.

And now as I am writing about funeral clothes, I think everyone should just have some—or perhaps we should all have them after we have reached a certain age. It’s that ecclesiastic seasons of life sort of thing—a time and a season for all things, a purpose under Heaven. When I was in my early twenties until I entered my late-thirties, my social calendar was filled with weddings, events surrounding weddings, and baby showers, and I had clothes for those occasions. How is stocking my closet with black any different now days? My peers aren’t yet dying off, but their parents are. So are former, older co-workers. It’s just a fact of life.

And the Optimistic Me who has been surprisingly quiet up until now—she’s usually very chatty—says that these black dresses will be worn more places than just funerals. The sleeveless, light one has a classy, classic Audrey Hepburn quality to it and would be perfect for a cocktail party. Yes, I vaguely remember cocktail parties in my more glamorous, previous life, but have I gone to one lately? Ha! The wool-blend one is good for church provided I wear it with a scarf or some other accessory that makes it look less funeral-y.

So, there is a punk band called "Funeral Dress" and they have been playing together since 1985. Kudos to them for their longevity as a band! Impressive! And nothing in my closet resembles anything they are wearing either.

So, there is a punk band called “Funeral Dress” and they have been playing together since 1985. Kudos to them for their longevity as a band! Impressive! And nothing in my closet resembles anything they are wearing either.

But here’s the interesting thing: A year ago, I really did believe that my mother-in-law would die soon and we would, of course, be having a funeral. Honestly, that is what I was thinking on her birthday last year when I bought two black dresses. Now, I think she could be around for another decade, and when she does go, I really don’t know that we will have a funeral. At this point, so many people have already mourned her, and I now understand why families sometimes choose to hold a private memorial service. I may not even need to think about what to wear.

So, I’m going with what the Optimistic Me says. I’m wearing the wool-blend to church on Sunday, and at some point this year, I will find some fancy-schmancy event just so I can wear the Audrey Hepburn dress. I may have to crash a party, but hey, I am feeling up to it.

 

 

 

 

Maybe I don’t need a makeover after all…I just need to watch more TV.

Look! It's Stacy and Clinton. They wouldn't want me on their show. I'm not quite pitiful enough. Or at least that is what I am telling myself.

Look! It’s Stacy and Clinton. They wouldn’t want me on their show. I’m not quite pitiful enough. Or at least that is what I am telling myself.

“I can’t believe this show is no longer on the air and the whole time it was on, YOU never nominated ME for a makeover!” I called to my husband while watching an episode of What Not to Wear. It was late. Children were asleep. My mother-in-law was in bed. I was folding clothes and in need of mindless TV. After flipping through a gazillion useless channels, I found What Not To Wear On-Demand. I had not seen it in years, but I was fairly addicted to make-over shows when I was pregnant with my daughter six years ago.

“I love you too much to do that,” he answered.

He loves me too much to want me to go to NYC for a weekend to shop for clothes for myself with someone else’s money? Yeah, right. If that’s the case, I wish he would love me a little less because I could use a make-over.

Of course, if he—or anyone else—sent them a picture of me, I don’t think the producers of What Not To Wear or Ten Years Younger or How Do I Look? or any other make-over show would be interested. I have never worn a Halloween costume to a wedding, and I’m not one of those otherwise healthy-looking people you see walking around the mall in their pajamas and bedroom slippers. I wear a bra—on the inside of my shirt, and never on the outside. So, you see, I’m NOT completely hopeless or that intriguing when it comes to fashion or hair or make-up. I’m probably very average—on all accounts.

Besides, back when I watched make-over shows, I never really could relate to the chick wearing the fish-net stocking and see-through blouse to the PTA meeting or the one who thought wearing a raccoon tail pinned to her pants looked good. They were all about calling attention to themselves while hiding behind a ridiculous façade. I don’t do that.

I could and can relate, however, to the woman who is too busy to shop for herself and so everything in her closet is at least a decade old. I know what it is like to gain a little weight and not be certain how to dress a body that is shaped a little differently. No time for make-up? Yep. Can’t find a good stylist and so you gave up looking? Been there, done that. Want to look age appropriate without looking frumpy, but can’t always strike the right balance? Me, too. Not a lot of money to spend on your clothes, much less buying items that will need altering to fit just right? Oh, yes!

In other words, I relate to those women who have let themselves go.

As I write this, I am wearing jeans I bought at Sam’s Wholesale Club. Why? Because I buy all my clothes at wholesale clubs. Why? Because they don’t sell clothes at the grocery store, and lately, wholesale clubs and grocery stores are the only places I shop.

It’s been over a year since I last had a professional manicure or pedicure because I have a hard time justifying the time and the money. (And yeah, I know just mentioning this makes me the Queen of First World Whining. It’s not a real problem unless you are living a somewhat charmed life. I know this. You don’t need to remind me.)

My shoe wardrobe will never, ever, ever recover from my pregnancies. I went from a size 5 ½ to an 8.

And as I have previously written, I’m not sure what I am doing with my hair.

Yeah, I am that woman who has let herself go—but not completely.  Again, I don’t even own a sweatsuit, and I admit—I do still brush my hair and my teeth.

The morning after watching Stacy and Clinton help some poor woman, who needed more help than I do, I slid on a pair of my wholesale club jeans and examined my butt in the mirror. No panty-lines and no sagging. And isn’t that one of their rules—jeans should make your butt look good? Mine looks good enough in these. At least as good as it would look in any other pair of jeans, even a pair purchased at—dare I dream—a clothing store!

I also wore a different pair of earrings instead of my standard, goes-with-everything pearls. I filed my nails. I wore make-up. I made an effort.

Maybe I don’t need to be on a makeover show. Maybe I just need to watch one while folding my laundry.

 

If Fifty is the New Thirty, Frumpy is the New Chic

It looks like a shoe to you, but to me, it looks like a form of torture.

It looks like a shoe to you, but to me, it looks like a form of torture.

I went to the library to get The Fasting Diet after seeing the author on PBS and hearing him on NPR. I am intrigued by this idea that periodic fasting can improve one’s over-all health and slow the aging of the mind.

While I was there, I also borrowed a couple of cookbooks. I’m planning to torture myself by looking at all those glossy pictures of food while I’m fasting.

I also picked up a book titled How to Look Ten Years Younger. I have to admit that when I first read the title, I thought to myself, “Want people to think you are ten years younger? Have a baby.”

Yes, that’s been my experience. Because I have young children, people assume I am in my thirties, not my forties. I’m not vain enough to believe that it’s my youthful good-looks, but at the same time, no one—so far—has asked me if my children are my grandchildren. And believe me, that is something every old mom fears–“Your grandchildren are adorable. Do you get to see them often?” Cringe.

Still, I couldn’t resist. I checked out How To Look Ten Years Younger, too, and it was the first book I opened when I got home. I didn’t read the whole thing, but I skimmed it enough to know that I am doing two things that make me appear older and therefore, frumpy.

  1. I always wear flats. According to this book, I should wear heels and instantly, I will look younger, thinner, and sexier. Eye-roll. Even as a much younger woman, I couldn’t wear heels without suffering some pretty horrific foot-pain. During the bridesmaid years–you know, those years in which you are in a wedding almost every weekend–I stood at many-a altar in a satiny dress and dyed-to-match heels visibly weeping. Those tears had nothing to do with joy and everything to do with foot-pain. I couldn’t wear them at 20. I can’t wear them now.

 

  1. I wear my reading glasses either on my head or around my neck when they aren’t on my
    I love my reading glasses. You won't find a more versatile accessory. Sometimes, they are a headband. Sometimes, they are a necklace. And sometimes, they are glasses.

    I love my reading glasses. You won’t find a more versatile accessory. Sometimes, they are a headband. Sometimes, they are a necklace. And sometimes, they are glasses.

    face. According to the author, if I’m not reading, I shouldn’t be wearing them anywhere on my body. Again, that is great in theory, but I’m very dependent on my reading glasses. I can’t see without them and so I need to have them with me—and where I can find them. I can usually find my head and my neck.

So, I guess I am just going to go on being frumpy, and if I really feel the need to look ten years younger, I’ll just have another baby.

Just joking. Not happening. I hope not anyway. Never use age or fatigue as birth control…