Year: 2007

  • The gift that was delayed, but now keeps giving

    Remember about a week and a half ago when Caroline had that stomach virus? And we were up most of the night?

    I never got sick, so I breathed a huge sigh of relief that I had dodged the proverbial bullet.

    Apparently, the bullet circled the circumference of the earth and has now promptly hit me between the eyes, or the stomach as the case may be.

    Stomach virus.

    Bad stomach virus.

    And remember how Caroline was so cheerful and upbeat the whole time?

    She doesn’t get that characteristic from her mama.

    I’m pretty sure I’m about to die.

  • Episode 5: big boo cast

    Oh, yes ma’am. It’s another podcast. Honestly, I have no idea what we discuss this week, but I know it is chockfull of valuable information. Or not.

    bigboobuttonsm.jpg

    Listen on the blog here:

    Subscribe via iTunes here.

    Subscribe via RSS feed here.

    And here are links for some of the topics / products we mention:

    The Cat’s Pajamas

    Williams-Sonoma’s Pumpkin Spice Quickbread

    Old Navy’s Camp Shirts

    The Swing Coat We Cannot Afford But Love Just The Same

    Beth Moore on “Life Today”

    Y’all have a great weekend!

  • Four score and seven years ago

    Yesterday, as I drove Caroline to school, I told her, “Tomorrow is Daddy’s birthday”.

    She asked, “How old is he going to be?”

    “Thirty-seven.”

    “OHHHH, FORTY-SEVEN!!!”

    Why does she feel the need to prematurely age her parents by a decade? What have we ever done to her other than provide unconditional love and a steady supply of York Peppermint Patties?

    Later in the day she asked, in a voice filled with concern, “Will Daddy still be able to wrestle with me even though he’s 47?” And I assured her that, in spite of his rapid approach to AARP membership, Daddy will still be able to wrestle.

    Happy Birthday P. May you have many more years of getting knee-drops in the chest from your daughter. She is a delicate flower.

    You’ve taught her well.

    And you look great for 47. Love you.

  • Edition 3: Fashion Friday

    Let me start today with a disclaimer. This post is for the ladies. Of course, if all 3 of my male readers are like P, they moved on as soon as they saw the word fashion.

    If not, here’s your chance. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

    I believe I have mentioned that I am a fan of Tim Gunn’s new show entitled, appropriately enough, “Tim Gunn’s Guide to Style”. Tim is a kind, gentle fashion authority. He honestly wants to help women look good and feel better about themselves. He doesn’t mock the fashion impaired, but instead offers them assistance.

    Sometimes, he even cries.

    And gasps at the mention of leggings.

    And describes a closet full of capri pants and t-shirts as “self-flagellation”.

    Love him.

    One of the critical moments of Tim’s show (because yes, we are on a first name basis) is when his sidekick, Veronica, tells the women she needs to go through their underwear drawer.

    I am not even kidding when I say that the first time I saw this I hid my face in a pillow to muffle the screaming.

    I was mortified. Mainly because all I could think about was the shameful things Tim and Veronica would see if they were to go through my underwear drawer. I have underwear that attempted to see me through my pregnancy, and thus bid a fond farewell to elastic years ago. Yet I still wear them.

    I have bras that are older than Caroline. Bras that should have been retired long ago after years of faithful support and gravity defiance.

    But I haven’t been able to let go, mainly because I don’t want to think about replacing them.

    I know some women love shopping for undergarments, but I don’t know these women. It’s not something I enjoy spending money on. It grieves me to spend money on a bra when it would be much better spent on something of value, like dishtowels from Anthropologie.

    However, the reason Tim and Veronica go through the underwear drawer is because good undergarments are the key to clothes that fit well. A good bra can help eliminate that upper back fat spillage over the band.

    Well, a good bra and cutting out the Hostess cupcakes. But you get my point.

    It can lift and separate and cause you to instantly look 5 pounds thinner. What else can do that? Other than a mirror at a carnival or hallucinations?

    Inspired by “Guide to Style”, I set out for Nordstroms’ today with Caroline. Nordstrom stores have professional bra-sizing specialists in their lingerie department, so I went in and got measured. Just as I suspected, like 98% of the female population, I have been wearing the wrong size.

    The helpful saleslady took my measurements, assessed my bra needs, and then went in search of several different options.

    I bet I tried on at least 20 different bras, which was no easy feat with Caroline climbing in and out of the dressing room the whole time and intermittently watching herself dance in the mirror.

    The saleslady helped me figure out exactly what I needed and her opinion was much more helpful than Caroline’s, whose only opinion was that I should buy the “HOT PINK ONE, MAMA!”

    Like I’m in the market for a hot pink bra.

    That bra would require a different life. A life filled with Cosmopolitans and leisure time.

    So, here’s what I learned today:

    1. When you purchase a new bra, the band should fit snugly when fastened on the loosest hook setting. All bras lose their elasticity over time and this will allow you to fasten it tighter as time and saggage take their toll on the elastic.

    2. Do not handwash bras in Woolite. Apparently, Woolite is like Kryptonite to brassieres. I had no idea. Either wash them on gentle cycle in a mesh bag and hang to dry or handwash them using regular laundry detergent.

    3. The right bra will look and feel so much better than the bra you’ve been wearing. Especially if it’s a bra that carried you through the fluctuations of pregnancy and is the consistency of a moth-eaten dishtowel with underwire.

    So, ladies. Go forth and support the girls that are closest to you. They are the only one you’ll ever have.

    Well, unless you spring for saline upgrades.

    Now a few questions:

    1. Nicole asks: “What are your favorite shoes when you’re going for comfort? We’re taking a trip to Disney World in a couple weeks & I’m trying to decide on footwear. I’ll be wearing mostly capris & knee-length shorts. I don’t want to wear tennis shoes unless I have to, but my flimsy Ann Taylor Loft flip flops aren’t going to work for miles and miles of walking! I need comfy, yet cute and stylish.”

    This is my daily dilemma. I love a pretty shoe, but pretty and practical don’t always go hand in hand.

    Personally, if I were going to Disney World and wanted to be comfortable, I’d probably go with my Nike running shoes. They aren’t the cutest things in the world and I certainly wouldn’t set the fashion world on fire, but I also wouldn’t set my feet on fire.

    And seriously, if you’ve ever been to Disney World then you know what I’m saying when I tell you that fashion is not the priority for most patrons. It’s like one big fashion don’t. You’ve never seen so many black socks paired with sandals in all your life, not to mention an appalling lack of female support garments. Apparently some folks like to let it all hang loose for Mickey Mouse.

    My point is, wear what’s comfortable and won’t cause you to want to cut off your feet by noon. If you’re looking for a comfortable flip-flop with good support, I would suggest Reef flip-flops. They are the only kind I wear and have never caused me one ounce of foot discomfort, even after a day at Sea World.

    2. Mandy asks: “Was I on something, or did I see Seven jeans at Kohl’s? Another question for Friday or whenever…What type of unders do we wear with yoga pants? I have just gone for the velour in the past, but I want to move on for a more yoga-type. I don’t like dental floss…is that my only option?”

    I believe that you must have been on something.

    In all fairness, there is a cheap brand of jeans called “Sevens”, but one quick try-on will confirm that they are imposters. The key is to make sure they say “For all mankind”. Because the real Sevens are an inclusive jean.

    As for underwear under yoga pants, I don’t think you have to wear something that skimpy if you don’t want to. Just make sure it’s something with a smooth line. Visible underwear lines are not your friend.

    I don’t really wear my yoga pants tight enough for it to be an issue. I like a loose fit that ensures any problem areas won’t be accentuated because wearing a girdle with yoga pants would defeat the whole purpose.

    And make me angry. Very angry.

    3. Suzi asks: “So I’m lost are you are real fashion expert or do you just have terrific taste?”

    I am not a real fashion expert. I just play one on the blog.

    But thanks for the compliment about my taste.

    That’s all for this week.

    I have more questions waiting in my inbox that I promise I’ll get to eventually, but I also have a child who needs to bring something that starts with “C” for show and tell today. And, as God is my witness, I will come up with something better than the “cap” from the toothpaste.

    Y’all have a nice Friday!

  • The legacy of a good animal print

    Many years ago, Gulley worked at Neiman Marcus. During her brief career in the high-end world of fashion and fabulous, she always knew what the newest trends were, and would report back to me.

    It was a glorious time.

    Unfortunately, it came in my pre-marriage days when my disposable income was approximately a negative number by the end of each month, in spite of the fact that I was living in an apartment where the rent was only $395 month ALL BILLS PAID.

    I will tell y’all right now that the thermostat in that apartment was never above 70 degrees. I wore flannel pajamas and drank hot chocolate on the couch year round.

    And if that isn’t a testament to the fabulous life I led as a single girl, I don’t know what is.

    Anyway, I was on a budget. And in spite of working at Neiman’s, so was Gulley. Because retailers don’t actually pay their employees a salary that would allow them to shop at the store.

    Especially a store that considers Cole Haan shoes to be a bargain basement item.

    It was during this time, over 10 years ago, that Gulley told me about something called a Kate Spade purse. She had saved her money and used her employee discount to purchase the original Kate Spade bag, which you fashionistas out there may recall was essentially a box-shaped bag covered in some type of black microfiber material.

    I was green with envy over her fabulous black bag.

    I wanted one. I needed one. Who cares that Kate was charging $200 plus dollars for a black canvas purse? I had to have one, even if it meant skipping two or eighteen meals.

    However, when a person is making so little money that they live in 492 square feet for the low price of $395 a month ALL BILLS PAID, and a two-piece extra spicy meal from Popeyes counts as a luxury item, designer handbag purchases don’t necessarily make good sense.

    Then, one day Gulley was talking to her dad on the phone. Somehow the subject of purses came up and he mentioned that he knew a place where he could purchase a faux Kate Spade.

    So we did the only thing two desperate girls in their early twenties could do. We begged and pleaded with him to risk life and limb to get us the counterfeit merchandise.

    Here’s the thing about Gulley’s dad. He’s not a halfway kind of guy. If he does something, he’s going to do it ALL OUT and do it with style.

    It’s his way.

    So, he came to visit bearing two calf-hair, zebra-print Kate Spade bags. One for each of us.

    He was like a renegade Santa Claus and we were understandably thrilled.

    Gulley and I carried those purses for at least a year or two. It made every day better just knowing that the zebra-print goodness was a part of my life.

    However, styles come and go. Eventually we knew it was time to retire the old girls.

    I’m not sure where mine is now. As I have shown, I have a merciless tendency to get rid of anything and everything. I can’t imagine I threw it out, so it may be in a box in the attic serving as a bed to a wayward squirrel.

    Because if there is anything living in our attic, it is only a squirrel. Not a mouse. Definitely not a mouse. And certainly not the larger cousin of the mouse, also known as a rat.

    Yesterday, Gulley came over bearing her Kate Spade zebra-print bag. She gave it to Caroline. I like to think of it as a symbolic gesture. The passing of the fashion torch.

    Caroline took one look at it and said, “OH MAMA! This is a GROWN UP BAG. This is a beautiful, GROWN UP BAG. Thank you, Guwwey, thank you!”

    I’ve never been more proud than I was at that moment.

    She gets it. She understands fabulous.

  • Rumors of his demise have been greatly exaggerated

    First, I need to offer a heartfelt apology to Ed McMahon.

    Sir, I had no idea that you were still alive. And I’m hoping well.

    Kudos to you, Mr. McMahon. You have obviously discovered the key to long life because I feel certain you must be at least 107 years old.

    Well, maybe not that old, but at least as old as Jane Seymour.

    At any rate, I did not mean to spread false rumors regarding your death on the internet. So, if you’d please come bring me a large check from Publisher’s Clearing House, it would be greatly appreciated.

    In other news, in the last podcast Sophie and I did I mentioned that I like to get a good sizzle out of my hair by using a product called STAY.

    And when I say sizzle, I’m don’t mean it as an adjective. I’m not trying to find a clever way to say PIZAZZ or something. I literally mean that I like to hear my hair fry when it meets the heat of the curling iron.

    I am from Texas. It’s part of my heritage.

    At this moment, any readers who live north of the Mason-Dixon line are gasping in horror.

    While your sisters in the South are nodding their heads and saying AMEN, PREACH IT SISTER.

    Anyway, I mentioned that STAY helps my hair hold up beautifully in most all situations. I also mentioned that it comes in a generic bottle and I purchase it directly from my hairdresser. I have long felt certain that it is some sort of contraband hair substance.

    But if loving it is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

    So, a reader named Susan emailed me to ask about acquiring some STAY for herself. I looked on the bottle, gave her the only identifying information I could find, and suggested she do a Google search.

    Because Google will supply you with more information than any doctorate program in the country. Or even the world.

    Look what Susan found.

    She found it at the well-known Payne’s Beauty Supply, which is only slightly less popular than say, Sephora.

    Twenty dollars says you can’t find STAY at Sephora.

    Probably due to FDA regulations.

    And the sheer ugliness of the packaging.

    I’m just saying the folks at “Straight Request” (also known as a back alley somewhere in Mexico) must be pretty confident in the quality of their product if this is the bottle they’re going to offer the public. It basically says IN YOUR FACE PHYTODEFRISANT (with your fancy French inflections), I AM SECURE IN WHO I AM AND MY HAIRCARE ABILITIES.

    You can’t put a price on that kind of haircare confidence.

    Well, actually you can, it’s $8.95 plus shipping.

    It will give you lots of pizazz. And sizzle.

    However, you may be embarrassed to display it on your bathroom shelf.