and now let us pause for a moment of self-indulgent meditation

(almost) Everyone has at least one…one pair of perfect blue jeans. The pair that fits your shape perfectly in every way that you want it to. They are perfectly broken in. Perhaps they have been that way since Day 1 because you paid the extra coin for them in their perfect wearable destruction; or maybe they have been worn to perfection through the days, weeks, months and years that you have worn them. You slip them on and they hug every curve and edge exactly how you want them to. They are your old friend that you can dress up, dress down, grunge around in or just chill in.

Your jeans.

Your favorite pair of jeans.

Your perfect pair of jeans.

Your most favorite, perfect pair of jeans.

Then today you slip them on and lo, they have become distressed and destroyed in such a way that is most certainly not fashionable, or repairable and…

:::SOB!::::

Oh stop judging! I know you get it because I know you too have that pair of jeans and even if you don’t, it’s my blog and I’ll self-indulgently mourn for the jeans that I have worn perfectly for longer than my first grandbaby has been alive if I want to.

By the way, that grandbaby is 6½ years old and she STILL hasn’t lost any baby teeth.

Let us all now pause for a moment of silent meditation for the perfect pair of blue jeans lost.

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Thank you.

#RIPLaurasFavoriteJeans

 

 

photo dump: the thankful edition

It’s Thanksgiving Day so I’m going to give thanks, as one should on Thanksgiving Day…and every other day.

For Thing 1 and Thing 2, generously provided by my employer and a co-worker who has no use for the 12 pound turkey they handed him as we left work early in the morning last week. Yes, I named them, as I do every year. Deal with it! Meanwhile, Thing 1 and Thing 2 are currently soaking in an icy cold, brine-y bath waiting to be properly roasted.

For bringing sexy back in the way that only Personal Protective Equipment can. This look is hot. No. It really is hot.

The perfect pick-me-up after running 4 miles before you work your 4th 12 hour night shift in a week. Hurray for Snickers and for running and for a busy, busy full NICU which means work!

For kick-ass looking compression socks to wear after running a few miles before working hard on your feet for 12 hours all night long. Oh, and, give thanks for the break relief RN who makes the moment where you get to put your feet up for 20 minutes.

Be thankful for the 2 hour nap you had after working all night before you take the time to drive your favorite Princess 125 miles in the rain and wind and fog across a couple bridges during drive time Bay Area traffic so that she can attend two hours of Princess training.

It’s totally worth it when she sends you this picture of her being fitted for the wig of her favorite princess, one of a few who she will be portraying. Yes, you can almost hear her squeeing with delight from the only open cafe in the area where you sat and waited during those two hours. Worth it. Totally. So was her telling you how much she loved you and was glad you were driving as you drove across the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge in the 0.25 mile visibility fog.

This card with this name on it which we waited for for 12 years because no matter what the social workers tell you, it isn’t as easy as it should be to get your child’s social security card with his name on it after the adoption is finalized because government agencies can be so frustratingly dumb sometimes. But not Maria at the Manteca Social Security Administration office. Sure it took her several hours to figure a way around the bureaucratic walls but she did it because, as she humbly put it, “there’s always a way around walls.”

Remembering when you said you couldn’t wait for your kid to outgrow his shoes and clothes before they wear out when you see that the shoes that you just got him are too small. Human Growth Hormones, we are so thankful especially when you see your son’s height and weight plotted at <1%ile on the growth chart because look at that, the kid is almost finally plotting on the normal growth chart!

Pretty scarves and jewelry and makeup and clothes that flatter what your mama gave you, no matter what your age is, that you wear for no other reason than because you want to; which has nothing to do with completely unwanted attention from any stranger who imagines that you got all dressed up because you want their attention.

Yeah.

No.

Taking the time to catch part 3 of the 4 part Hunger Games Trilogy with this child of yours because that is what the two of you do together after the husbands and kids are asleep.

Running this for the third holiday season because otherwise you might just murder someone…or at least given them a really big hug with your hands around their neck because it is the holidays and because you like to eat and to drink because it is the holidays and because you like to run…a lot.

Moments of relaxation and the cat who makes you sit still and enjoy them. I plan to do just that today after I run a 10K and get Thing 1 and Thing 2 into the oven.

Happy Thanksgiving y’all!

 

potential dress code violations

Sitting in Hollie’s chair:

I know. I’m sorry. It’s absolutely frightening how I look without makeup. Still I don’t care because…

I’m getting PAMPERED!!! As I should be. As I deserve to be.

And then Hollie says to me, “I just LOVE how you let me do whatever to your hair.

I nod because it’s true. And then I catch a glimpse of…

OMG! Purple!! Purple like…

Sure it’s the IT color right now from fuschias to lavendars to deep purples to silver tones. It’s hot. Of course Hollie is fast becoming the go to person to get these luscious, colorful locks here in the Central Valley. But…dress codes…”natural hair color”…Absolutely I am a woman of a certain age who could wear the blueish-purplish-silvery hair and it would be totally legit…but, I don’t know.

“MOM! Stop peeking!!!”

I confess that now I am nervous but I keep repeating to myself how much she loves that I trust her…over and over until…

Signature copper with deep violet-red roots painted on as if baby I was born this way.

Naturally!

I may save tiny human beings but my girl makes me beautiful and that, based on the presented photographic evidence is truly miraculous.

 

 

so fancy

Every day this week, and pretty much every single time she crosses the street to come to The Big Top, Fallon is all dressed up.

Dude.

She’s so fancy…

You already know.

Fancy Fallon I call her. Fancy for short.

Every day she comes to say hello all dressed up in her OOTD (outfit of the day for you who do not know), a dress, always a dress with cute shoes (honey please!) and other accessories because she is so fancy.

Fancy Fallon.

Fancy for short if she really likes you.

She really likes me.

 

 

invisible in a bikini

Summer is most definitely here and the time is right to bare a little skin at the beach, at the pool, at the water park, at the lake and even on the Dirty Delta because it’s hot, we want to get wet and because it’s fun.

It is fun.

Well, for the body confident, the tan, the fit, the young.

If you listen to women’s and girls’ conversations about swimsuits it would seem that it isn’t fun at all. At one point in all of our lives we have had that moment of anxiety and self-loathing as we regarded ourselves in a harshly lit dressing room dressed in the bikini that looked perfect on the rack. “What happened?“, we wonder, as we regard every real and imagined imperfection, dimple, roll, sag, stretch mark perfectly highlighted in the most non-flattering light possible as we stand before the most unforgiving (and likely angled) mirror.

And while most of us fretted, stressed, starved, covered up and berated ourselves for not having the confidence to rock that perfect two piece swimsuit there are women all over the interwebs and in the news right now who are wearing that bikini and writing about it or posting pictures of it: a fat woman, another plus sized woman, an insulin pump dependent diabetic beauty queen, a woman living with Crohn’s Disease and a colostomy.

Oh, and a 52 year old woman wore a bikini poolside every day last week while staying in Las Vegas with two of her daughters and her grand daughters.

No one noticed. No one cared. No, not because I am over 50 and everyone knows that women of a certain age are indeed invisible once they are women of a certain age. No one noticed because everyone was too busy having fun enjoying that perfect pool, with their perfect, over-priced, poolside refreshments on a perfect sunshine-y day. I doubt anyone could see my birth date stamped on my ass indicating that I should not be wearing that bikini…including some of the men I caught briefly glancing at my ass as I walked by. Even if they could, I doubt anyone really cared. Nor did they care that my exposed, rounded belly once carried four of my five babies…at least no one asked. And although they might have noticed the blinding paleness of my SPF 50 coated body, no one stopped me demanding that I cover up right now. No one really cared and neither did I.

I wore a bikini every day while in Vegas last week because I wanted to…because I can…because I have limited time on this Earth to feel the sun on my skin (protected by sunscreen of course)…because the weather and that gorgeous pool pretty much said so.