The gift of a wardrobe

There was a post in my crackbook feed several months ago, proffering the contents of a closet being culled as the owner worked her muscles into compact form and these fell off her. I'd just had a baby, and faced the potential of a wardrobe challenge over the coming year. With each subsequent baby, my body takes its sweet time to go back to something smaller. Here, the heavens were opening up before me, and someone was blessing me with something I needed so very much. I took what I could use and passed along the rest to someone else.

I was going to be traveling through multiple seasons with a not-pre-baby-size body, and I trusted that it would be a short lived transitional wardrobe. I would be ok with being the size I am now, because I know I'd be more in line with an "average" size, and it might actually be easier to find things that fit me. Somehow clothiers think my pre-baby size equals twig, not scenic tour with curved roads. I wasn't willing to buy a whole new wardrobe at retail for potentially one season. I wasn't willing to buy out of season on clearance hedging bets on what size and shape I would be for that future season. I still don't know where my body is going to land, so I still can't hedge bets for later.  My luck, I'd buy a size down and my butt would refuse to go any smaller. There are some things that no self-respecting mother should ever allow her clothes to do to her.

This gift was an answer to a whispered prayer for future need. That future is the current moment and season. I have been wearing the 3 pair shorts from that bundle so much that I've killed the hems and have to re-hem them all. They are my "uniform", and literally get worn daily. Today was just below Hell Hot, and I could wear a pair of the pants. Like usual, I have ghetto bootie gap because of my curves. I've killed my belt with that issue. As I was changing into my pajamas tonight, I was feeling extraordinarily grateful for pants that fit, albeit a smidge loose. Far better they are loose than too snug! Between the pants from that bundle, and a seriously awesome pair of shoes from another friend, plus the shirt I found on clearance while I was still pregnant (that was a safe bet to make, pants not so much), I looked pulled together at church today. I felt like a grownup, and not a schlub. As a liturgical minister on hiatus, I am seen and known at church, whether I know everyone or not. Therefore, I am an example to others. As such, I should be the good example, not the horrible warning. As a business woman, my appearance does matter to those who may eventually do business with me. If I look like a bag of butt, people will treat me as such.

It may seem like a simple thing to the giver. She was just clearing out the stuff that was too big. But to the recipient, it has been a literal God-send. I am able to pull together outfits, and dress professionally where needed. I can take kids to appointments or school functions and not embarrass my offspring or myself. I can wear shorts that aren't cotton elastic gym clothes because that was my only other option short of consignment shopping, which is always a crap shoot regardless.

And thanks to another generous friend with big feet and excellent taste in shoes, I have some seriously cute shoes that go with almost everything. Pregnancy changed my feet too, and I killed some shoes, but my feet have followed the same path my hips have. So several pairs of my shoes still don't fit me, or they are no longer comfortable to wear. This will come as sacrilege to some, but there are only so many occasions that flip-flops can be worn.

Anyone who has that one outfit that makes them feel super, powerful, or gives a new posture, knows how important it is to feel good in the fabric dressing your person. So when you're clearing the closet, and passing it on, you really ARE blessing someone else in more ways than you might imagine. In short, I don't just have clothes and shoes. I really do have a functional wardrobe. If you knew me 15 or 20 years ago, you know how monumental this is. And if you know me at all, you know how swollen with gratitude my heart is that I have this gift, and that people shared it with me.

A little birthday present for myself

We had to get the guys measured for tuxedos for SIL's wedding. Devildog and I are part of the gang of people at the front of the church in monkey suits and fancy dresses. The Clone is a flower girl. The boys are ushers. I had Devildog drop the girls and me off at DSW while they got measured. Clone was quickly bored because there are no little girl size shoes there. I made my way back to the clearance corner and searched the big-foot sizes to see if something suited my fancy. As usual, most of what I tried on was too narrow in the toes and quickly went back to the racks. Shoe shopping is frustrating, possibly more so than shopping for pants or undergarments. First of all, there aren't enough size 9 and 10 wide width on the market at a price point this mom of 4 is willing to pay. I refuse to sacrifice fit and comfort for cute alone. It has to look good, fit well, and feel comfortable to come home with me. I have mildly high standards when we're talking about my feet - the one place my body relies on to carry me where I have to go. These would normally not even show up on my radar because they're fuschia. But, shopping to replenish my wardrobe this year has prompted me to consider colors and styles I wouldn't have looked at before. I tried them on and they're comfortable little shoes. I am figuring I can wear them with a variety of other things in my closet, so they wouldn't be one outfit wonders. They weren't too narrow in the toes, didn't have 4 inch heels that would make me fall on my face with the first step, and upon further investigation, they had a pretty clearance sticker.
So, here's my question for you - knowing my cheapskate tendencies, how much did I pay for these shoes?
It made for an even happier "Happy Birthday To Me!" moment.

To market, To market

That's the song I'm singing to the house I know Divine Intervention is sending our way. The houses I am looking at in our budget and neighborhoods we're willing to live in are not jumping out and biting me. It's a bit annoying because I would like to find something soon. Of course I'm not seeing it because a) it's not there, not being on the market yet, b) this current house is not ready enough to vacate, nor have I decluttered enough (doesn't look like I did anything at all, because essentially I haven't), and c) I'm known for 11th hour everything. I was even born at 10:28 pm. My best papers in high school and the little bit of college classes that I took ages ago were written at 1 in the morning. I guess it's part of my wiring.

I'm being patient. I don't have much choice really since work is busy right now. I have a feeling work will be busy for a while. The boss asked me to cover some recently vacated stores, adding to my 12 store list, making it 13 on my assignment list, plus another 5 to fill in till a replacement is hired. Then Clone is going to camp next month. I think I have a slow week next week, because this week is already jam full. I think that's when I'll be able to squeeze in the Mini-Human's 9 month checkup and a camp physical for the Clone.

Yet, I'm up beyond the 11th hour, blogging. In my defense that's only because the Mini-Human was up till 2. You read that correctly. UP. TILL. 2. She fights sleep like a trooper, and I need some time to decompress. Unfortunately for my knitting, I can't pay attention enough to knit at this hour. That sweater pattern requires note-taking and attention. That's not possible when I'm not brain-cooperative.
But wait! There's more! For the low low... oh wait, wrong market. No I'm just tired and feeling overwhelmed by a lot of things. My shoulders reside in my ears almost permanently and my back dislikes me often enough. Anything more that I say on it, would be whining, and per FLYLady, I'm not allowed to do that. So I'm going to just crawl in my bed.

Pregnant - and with PMS

It's been one of those weeks for me, which is part of why I haven't been posting much. I have not had anything funny, snarky or even nice to say, so I have been biting my keys. I'd rather do that than need peppermint ones later anyway. The Clone has been cranking out her PMS, and the hormones are apparently contagious. I've warned the penis people of the house repeatedly that it's a crank-fest and just stay on my good side. The first trimester "bleh" has pretty much passed and the second trimester nesting has kicked in full force. My house reflects the fact that I had the first trimester bleh, and it's driving me nuts. My frustration at how little I can accomplish to quell the second trimester nesting instincts is compounding things. I have managed to clean a bunch of junk out of my daughter's closet to make room for baby stuff to go in there. She is not happy that things go in there that aren't hers. However, this 1100 square foot house has literally THREE closets and we need six. Hers is the biggest one, so it gets the most stuff by default. I'm repacking things into boxes I've brought home from work, and tossing the old ratty boxes.
In the good news department this week, I scored a plain exersaucer for $10. Yes, plain. As in, no fifty gazillion toys attached to it that require scrubbing with a toothbrush daily to keep it clean. We're prone to messes here, and simpler to clean means "good idea" here. Plus, my household is overly stimulating for the senses anyway, there is no sense in adding to a baby's (or the MOM'S) overstimulation. Three noisy kids and a baby. I'm first in line for being overstimulated by the chaos.
Second, I scored a Medela Pump In Style motor for $25. For those of you outside the mama-milk circles, this is presumably the 'mack-mamma' of breast pumps. And for you pervs googling that crap, I'm talking about lactating and feeding offspring with the boob-milk, not the hormonal crap you're searching for on the internet. Anyway, it's just the motor that does the pumping, not the tubes, connectors or parts that attach to the milk source, plus it's an older model. I am blessed to have a friend who has the same pump and extra parts that she's offered to send me, and then some.
Third, I found some fabric that said same friend is going to use to make a maternity top for me, along with some others out of fabric she found where she lives. I'm excited because the stuff loaned to me by another friend isn't exactly my style, except the t-shirts. And it's getting more challenging to dress for church because my tops are starting to not fit me in a few places. When I'm done with these clothes, I'll be returning them to the other friend, and passing along the additions I've acquired, thereby increasing and updating her wardrobe for her next pregnancy. I call it the "Circle of Giving", and I'm trying to stay on the good side of the equation here.

Now, if you'll pardon me, I have something needing to be done around here, and hopefully doesn't include yelling at unproductive, uncooperative, teenage boys. One of them wants to get on the computer and do some schoolwork. I just want my house clean. I won't even start ranting about my husband's freakish work schedule that complicates my life these days. I'm grateful that he even HAS a job. Now if I can just get the teenager who is old enough to work, to actually LEAVE the house and FIND a job of his own, it would be tremendously helpful to my sanity. God bless those homeschool parents who actually do the teaching themselves. I am not one such capable parent.

I've succombed

First, let me just take a moment and breathe deeply. My 15 year old is at a friend's for a few days. My house hasn't been this quiet in ages. He has a large voice that carries, a demanding presence, and lacks the understanding that the rest of us have a strong need for quiet time. If you ever want to torture him, tape his mouth shut, and remove all sources of noise. Better yet, drop him on a remote mountaintop with no modern worldly stimulus. Indoor plumbing and electricity can be completely optional if you really want to just kill him.
My pregnant self needs a break from the constant overexposure to the boy. This baby bean can't develop appropriately with annoying stressed out hormones coursing through my veins and into the placenta. Placenta-brain/Preggo-brain is in full effect without Oldest adding to it. It's bad enough that I can't even operate a ziploc bag. I'm not kidding. I'm particular about how packaging is opened, and it's a genetic fault from my dad. So, that shredded cheese for tacos? Yea, I mangled the bag so badly the zipper thingy came off of it, the side of the zipper seal came apart from the bag, and the bag ripped below the zipper. I had to put the bag into another container so the cheese didn't dry out in the fridge.
Plus, I have been crazy busy with work this week, and was stressed out about it because I didn't read instructions early and plan appropriately. Then others dropped the ball too along the way. Friday was my day off, and I hogged the computer and really annoyed the Oldest. Then I "bed surfed" for a bit and after I got Clone from school, I decided to follow through with the threat I've been making since January. I went shoe shopping. It went better than today's house shopping adventure. I found something I liked at a kick butt price.

Meet Alice Peacock.
Yes, my shoes have a name. Crocs makes a style called Alice, in a color called Peacock. So why not? I can't talk baby names with Devildog. He refuses to go there till we have the big ultrasound in a couple months. Why waste valuable cranial energy coming up with a name we won't use for lack of matching gender right?
I have Persnickety to thank for sending me over the edge back in January when we went to Disney for my birthday. She loaned me a pair of her lavender Crocs that hadn't been on her own two feet yet. I walked all day in those shoes and didn't have the first bit of discomfort, save the stuff associated with being "freshly planted" with this stowaway. Oh yea, and the freezing cold that we actually DO get here in Florida. It was SUPPOSED to be nice that day. Hmph. But my body didn't ache from walking. So I finally made it to the outlet mall and stopped at Motherhood Maternity to see what they had. I did find a cute nursing top, but sadly, it displayed more cleavage than the world needed to see of me. I spent an hour in the Crocs store. I tried on several pair. Alice Peacock was an instant "ahh, comfy" I still looked for another pair, in something other than blue, because I wanted a brown or black pair, but the styles in that color I liked, were NOT available in my big honkin foot size. The ones that were remotely close, were too snug in key places. I'm picky about my feet touching the shoes in certain places. Across the ball of my foot and my toes are important places for shoes to fit properly. So, yes, I did succomb to the Crocs thing. But in my defense, I have wanted a pair for a while, I'm just a cheapskate and couldn't bring myself to spend the money on them. But it's a whole lot cooler to succomb on the cheap.

Thanksgiving at our house

As previously mentioned, we're not sharing the day with others out of consideration for their health. We're having a ham instead of a turkey, and I did it in the crockpot, but I think Devildog is not pleased with that. A couple weeks ago he made a comment about not wanting everything we eat for dinner to come from a crockpot, and he did so with one of those tones that indicate a true disdain. As he made his way back to the bed he asked what was in the crockpot, and when I answered, asked why I didn't do it in the oven. I kind of need that big monster for some other stuff dude. Plus the crockpot uses less electricity. He obviously doesn't sit down to do the household budget at payday, or open the bills when they arrive in the mail. He woke up and I could look at him and tell he was cranky. I tried to stay out of his way, to minimize everyone's misery. He tried helping me with dinner, and at times did indeed come in handy with one minor mishap that was not totally disasterous in the entire thing. It's always puzzled me how people could eat dinner so early in the day. In my lifetime I've been to Thanksgiving meals that started as early as 11:30 in the morning up to 2 or 3. I think the earliest time I've served a holiday dinner I cooked, was maybe 3 PM, and it was a stretch to get it done then. I had dinner ready at a dinner hour, not lunchtime like so many other people do. If I ever invite people over for a holiday, I'll get already semi-comatose guests because they've been elsewhere before the gastronomical consumption at my house. Beast looked at me in utter curiosity as to why I was serving dinner at 5:00 in the afternoon. I told him "I realize you're accustomed to eating dinner much later than this, but just go with it and eat the dinner that is being served at a dinner hour will ya?"
It's common to have dinner later than the rest of civilization here in the Irish House. If we ever find ourselves in a Hispanic country, we might be able to survive the meal times due to the way we eat here.
Now Devildog and I are going to peruse the Black Friday ads. He's eyeballing the Home Depot ad and I want to scope out the stuff the spawn need (like socks and underwear)

We need more than 2 front teeth for Christmas

My dad has been known to sing "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth" whenever a young one loses a tooth. My Clone lost her first tooth earlier this year and proudly stuck the tip of her tongue through the slot in her teeth to show Grandpa the exciting dental news. Of course, he sang this line to her. She said "Grannndpaaa, Santa doesn't bring you TEETH for Christmas! You get toys!" Well she holds fast to Santa=toys, but some of us want a BrewStation, cast iron skillet, Kitchen-Aid mixer, knives that are worth a squat, a new desk, and/or a 4 bedroom/2 bathroom house with a 2 car garage and a fair sized yard.
"Toys" would be a subjective term, because what is a toy to someone, might be useless to another person. Then there are practical gifts. Underwear, socks, sweaters....That's the stuff Mom puts under the tree for you. Santa brings the real stellar goods. I was at the SuperWally yesterday to get a few things. Since I had practically no agenda for the day, and hadn't wandered a store in ages without spawn in tow to annoy me with their cart driving habits, I wandered. I was scoping out stuff for presents, and got a couple things from the clearance selections. I also priced out those necessities like feet and butt covering items. Beast is in need of underwear, and I have seen this fact for myself. He has a typical male regard for underwear, and it has now come to my attention that Devildog has the same trait. This morning, Devildog once again got Clone ready for school for me, and let me laze in bed a bit longer so I can rest. I'm still fighting my lungs for the real estate that oxygen is supposed to occupy in there. It's basically a prolonged asthma attack and I'm just doing nebulizer treatments (that I'm also allergic to) because I'm pretty certain that a doctor is going to tell me to do just that. Plus I'd get a prescription for something like singulair and a z-pack, all of which require copays and I lack resources to cover them right now. I feel ok, except this whole lack of adequate oxygen saturation is making me feel less than energized. So, this morning, while I wasn't 100% yet, I felt rested enough to crawl from the bed and move forward with the day. Devildog took the Clone to school for me, then came home to get ready for work. As he passed me, shirtless, I caught a glimpse of grey elastic (yes this particular pair is supposed to be that color) with skin showing on both sides of it. I haven't done my husband's laundry in over ten years, so I don't know the condition of his drawers till I see them on his person. I asked how long his underwear were like that.... "uhh about two and a half months." When asked why he still wore them..."They still cover my [arse]." So it truly is genetic then. The Beast has underwear that likewise gape at the separation of elastic and fabric, and he doesn't care. The elastic is also too snug on him, but he doesn't care. Obviously a male standard for keeping stains off the interior of pants requires only that the important parts be COVERED, additional exposure elsewhere notwithstanding. Meanwhile I need my parts to be covered, but not riding up my ghetto bootie, show evidence of their location under my clothing, riding high above the waistband of my pants, or losing stitches between elastic and fabric. I suppose by a male standard, I ask too much of my undergarments, because I need for more than my backside to simply be "covered". Life is so much simpler when all you want or need to have for Christmas is dental parts to grow in where they belong. Turkey is easier to chew with them in place, but if you eat too much, you'll wish your elastic would stretch just a little more than it already strains to do.

EDITED to add: As I was making dinner tonight, I was slicing some sharp cheddar with one of my 13 year old steak knives. The age alone explains their inability to do as much. This pretty much eliminates any doubt that I could use new knives about as much as my male people need new drawers.

Appealing to my inner diva & tightwad tendencies

OK, so I found myself distracted and sidetracked on some other blog after searching for something real estate related. Don't ask, you're doing well to be reading this as it is. My A.D.D. has gone off the wall lately. I will blame work this week - extensive stuff going on and I'm glad to be almost done. Now, back to where I started with this. We want to buy a house, so I was searching for stuff, and used a handy-dandy search engine to find out about a company, subsequently finding a blog about telecommuting and other stuff this chick shares. I of course followed a blog roll link too. One of her blog buddies listed something for this new website due to launch later this month. HandbagPlanet.com is giving away a free bag every hour for 24 hours.
I like a few of the styles I see so far, and have shared samples of what I considered when I registered. You now have the opportunity to do the same. Go scope it out and see for yourself. While you're there, enter to win one. Just a first name and an email address get the job done. I am glad they appreciate my valuable time and don't ask for my life history or firstborn (not everyone is cut out for dealing with him anyway). Plus I doubt my A.D.D.-laden brain could handle the process at this point.

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Retail therapy

I've been scoping out furniture for my den. I need a shorter desk, and I need something more compact for my yarn, but still big enough to hold all of it. I should do some stash busting but that's another post. I have browsed thrift stores, consignment shops, yard sales, craigslist etc. Desks come in such a variety that I have almost given up. I bought my current desk without drawers to hold me accountable for my clutter. Man oh man, does it hold me accountable! I'm so accountable I can't even keep it clean. It's as organized as its ever been, and it's a wreck. I have too much crap in all honesty. I'm working on paring it down and have done tremendously the past month, fits and starts and pauses that it has been. So in my search for a desk, I have seen lots of pictures. Some of them are really nice, and the pictures make me wish I had the money, a truck and a house big enough to go buy the desk...*sigh* I really should keep one of those billionaire's offspring or nephew or something on a side burner for future use.

What I also experienced was annoyance at sellers. If you're expecting me to buy the desk, please oh please clean it off. Given my current habits (in reformation) that desk will look JUST like the photo in my house, except it will be my crap on it, not yours. Just to clarify, this is what I like seeing in an online listing for Joe Schmuckatelli who needs to get rid of stuff:


These are not:

I don't really see a computer...but it could be hidden. Will my desktop computer fit? and is that LAUNDRY underneath it?


This says "I'm disorganized and when you get here to pick it up, I'll be disheveled and won't have any change, but let me look in my purse...now where are my glasses? I set them down somewhere." At least the floor is clear. (Shamefully I can't say that about my desk)


While this is not my desk, this is kind of what the state of my desk looks like. Actually they have the same tower and similar monitor that I have...except I can't drink green tea, and my desk would have piles stacked, not quite so randomly tossed like this.


This is further argument for drawers. At least you can HIDE some of the mess

I would upload a picture of my desk, but I have the forethought to skip sharing my embarassment with you.