Tune in today Archives - Desperately Seeking SuperwomanDesperately Seeking Superwoman

Kindergarten kickoff and my nervous breakdown

August 14, 2015

Tune in today to see if she can … be that together mom on the first day of kindergarten.

The thing about children that nobody tells you, is that more often than anyone would like, we discover that these little people are petite vessels sent to open, detonate and unintentionally impose utter and complete emotional devastation upon those who love them most. One look, and they can level you. The right phrase, and you’re shattered into 8 trillion tiny pieces. Almost every happy occasion comes gift wrapped in nostalgia and topped with a bittersweet bow. It’s incredibly humbling and unnerving all at the same time.

JoJo started kindergarten on Wednesday and, as she lifted that construction paper sign announcing her foray into elementary school for the world (or just Instagram and Facebook) to see, something terrible happened. I started sobbing. Big, dreadful, embarrassing, ugly tears. It was like they were all holding hands. Once they started falling, there was no reprieve from the infinity pool of self pity.

But when we got to the sitter’s to drop off the younger two, I said I was fine. I was fine with her looking like a 12 year old who picked out the most mature outfit in her closet. I was fine with her telling her sissies goodbye. “Wait until she goes to college,” the sitter said. And again, I cried.

But when I got back into the car to drive her to school, I said I was fine. I was fine with her sitting, crossed-legged, mouthing all the words to an Ed Sheeran song while looking longingly out the window. You know … like teenagers do. “Are you coming in with me?” JoJo asked. And again, I cried.

But as we walked hand in hand, side by side, into the school, I said I was fine. I was fine with how, as I looked down at the pavement, I noticed her shadow was catching up to mine. I was fine with how her tiny hand felt not-as-tiny nestled in mine, and how I could feel her anxious excitement on the other end. “Here we go,” I said. And I tried so hard not to cry.

As I watched her sit up so straight in her little chair, only looking back to meet eyes with me a few times, when she thought no one was looking. As I watched her walk to her cubby. As I watched her line up and march with a tentative confidence down a hallway alongside the big kids. As I watched her eyes light up at talk of reading and adventures and friends, I told myself I was fine. Everything was fine.

But as we set her on the little round seat in the lunchroom, situated with her compartmentalized tray and carton of apple juice, I didn’t feel fine. “Are you guys leaving now?” JoJo asked. I leaned down, kissed her little baby-skinned cheek, pulled down my sunglasses and didn’t try not to cry. In fact, I let it rain. I let those tears fall for the milestone and for my mourning of the past and the fact that it will always be the past, and in the past, she was tiny and snuggly and so close to me always.

“Find joy in the journey.” my friend Lindsay posted.

“This is what we do. We raise them to give them wings and let them go.” Kel offered.

“It’s a testament to you as a mom that she felt OK to go in there with confidence. It’s OK to be upset. Part of being a mom is loving them so much and worrying and crying.” a sweet coworker said (as I snotted and sobbed over her desk).

But when I got home from work, and I listened to her describe their bear hunt, and the playground, and her new friends … I knew, deep down, everything was just fine. But I still cried today, just a little.

Until next time …

Mindfulness, Tune in Today

Better in my 30s: Meditating

April 29, 2015

Tune in today to see if she can … Meditate for 30 days.

A few months back, I was on a Gabrielle Bernstein high. I listened to her audio book for Miracles Now and became a full-on spirit junkie, taking hit after hit of Gabby’s good stuff. While like most of my infatuations, it only lasted a hot minute, I would say I was addicted. I took introspection to a DEFCON level 5, dissecting every passing thought and action, trying these wild meditations with mantras that I chanted, having absolutely zero clue what they meant. But before you judge, listen to the girl speak. You might not drink the Kool-Aid, but you’ll at least smell it to see what flavor’s in the pitcher.

She said things like …

And these memorable nuggets …

I finished the last disc and swore to find my peace, damn it!

A quick confession and choppy transition: I have over 100 blogs in my Feedly roll. Whether you find yourself appalled or impressed is neither here nor there, but what I can tell you is certain trends are undeniable in the blogosphere. Repeating themes, if you will. And right now I could create a brutal drinking game for content addicts based on the mention of any of the following: juicing, HIIT, festival, flower crown or meditation. The latter being the only one that also coincides with my resolutions for self improvement in 2015. The universe just keeps throwing it at me. So, I’m going to stop throwing it back. At least for a month.

Starting Monday, this mama is going to hide in my basement, closet (c’mon, I have no pride anymore) or bedroom for 10 minutes every day, for 30 consecutive days, and meditate. Nothing fancy. No mantras. Likely just a timer and some instrumentals. I don’t know … I don’t know if I’ll have enough time … I want to see if being mindful truly impacts decision making, parenting and sleep. I want to breathe and reboot. So, we’ll see. I’ll journal and overthink it all and report back in June. I know you’ll be on the edge of your seats (wink, wink).

Until next time …

Tune in Today

Much love for Mother Nature

April 22, 2015

Tune in today to see if she can … lighten her carbon footprint and trigger change.

Let’s give it up for Earth Day, everyone, whatda ya say, huh? It seems like such a lackluster effort on our parts. I mean, the planet gives us electric sunsets, piercing blue waters and, oh yeah, air, and we set aside one cotton-pickin day to consider what we’re doing to impede on her efforts. I feel like, I don’t know, we could really up our game as a species.

I would say, on an Earth-conscious scale from 1-10, our household falls at about a 5. Aside from filling our recycling bin to the brim, composting, repurposing, planting trees, avoiding material waste and educating our girls about all of the above, I know we’re just scratching the suffocating surface.

If every person resolved to make one change to one habit every April, big things could happen. I’ll go first … This Earth Day, I am going to switch to cloth napkins. After I made this declaration to Hank on the drive to Spin tonight, he countered, as he so often does, with, “I’m curious if it really does make that much of a difference, or if, because you have to wash them, it’s just as bad.” Enough to make me wonder and doubt my Earth Day ’15 choice.

According to treehugger.com, who tested both paper and cloth scenarios, “Over the course of a year you might wash your napkins 50 times and during the same time you might go through 350 (50 x 7) paper napkins. This scenario is much more favorable towards the reusable napkins, with 5 grams of greenhouse gas emissions for the cotton versus 10 grams for the single-use paper napkins. The linen napkin was even lower at 2.5 grams.” Sounds legit to me.

On to the contenders …

1. My front runner. Simple. Practical. Organic. And Mama loves a multipack.

2. Who doesn’t love a side of zigzag with their dinner?

3. These floral favorites are pretty, but perhaps a little fancy for a typical night at our table. (Spike can belch at will. Does this motif scream a message that mimics that ambiance to you?)

4. Another fave. I’m digging these colorways so hard.

So, go green, my brothers and sisters. Make a pact to pursue a simple, sustainable change this year, and every year, and happy Earth Day!

Until next time …

Wellness

Putting on my training heels

April 7, 2015

Tune in today to see if she can … hatch a half marathon training plan.

There is something so romantic about being a runner. Rising with the sun. Worn sneakers with soles that trap and hold stories of triumph and trial. Lean arms that swing and pump and plead for one more mile. The pain. The glory. The reward of making it farther than ever before. It’s the most awe-inspiring example of the power of will. Of course I’ve never experienced these things personally (I know, I really sold it in those first few sentences), but when I watch people pounding the pavement on my drive in to work, I momentarily crush on their endurance. The fact that they’re out there. That they are runners. And then I think, damn it, I want to be a runner.The natural retort here would be, “Then go run, fool!” but the truth is, it isn’t that easy. To put it nicely, I am stride challenged. I have all the ambition, but none of the athleticism. I learned several years ago that I am great at moving up and down, and terrible at moving forward; a problem, some would say, when it comes to covering distance.

In high school, we had something called Summer Gym. The program was a requirement for athletes and basically a form of torture for hormonal adolescents in which we were turned out in 98-degree conditions and told to run, dash through tires and look disgusting in front of every boy we ever liked. The climax of Summer Gym was the infamous run to Lion’s Park. Let’s call it 3 miles round trip. My girlfriends pulled the period card and bailed, leaving me and my yet-to-be-diagnosed stationary stride. About 1 mile in, it became clear my only hope was a stamp transfer. Please, god of teenagers, let me get a stamp transfer. When a runner reached the park, they received a Sharpie stamp on the back of their hand before looping back to finish the course at the school. Runner after runner came back at me, Sharpie mark flashing, until I finally spotted a cheerleader comrade. We locked eyes, desperation in mine, pity in hers. She pressed her Sharpie against the back of my sweaty hand. We held them there for maybe a full minute. Nothing. There was no hope now. I was going to have to run the rest of the route. Worse yet, the group couldn’t stretch and leave for the day until every single runner returned. I finished dead last. They sent a football player to get me. I believe his words of encouragement were, “Move your ass!” if memory serves.

Since that fateful day, I have been chasing down redemption. I want to run a half marathon more than anything. I’ve walked it three times, with a little jogging peppered in. But this is the year. I have developed a very detailed 5-part action plan for how I am going to come at it.

1. Pick a race and sign up.
Done. It’s at the end of September in my hometown.

2. Get some new kicks.
I always end up with Brooks Adrenalines, but I’ll still go to our local running
store for my biannual analysis because I like watching my feet on camera and imposing my self-deprecating commentary on the sales guy.

3. Train to train.
There is this wonderful gal at work who runs the real deal races. She has helped several other people come up with a kickass training program, so I picked one I liked and sent it to her. She asked how far, frequently and fast I am currently running. I sent my stats. Her response was sweet and thoughtful and she (summarized) basically suggested I use the program I had found to get me ready to start a real training program in July. So, I need to train to train. I get it. That’s where I’m at. Truth is a liquor best served straight up. So, I’m starting my pretraining training program today.

4. Train.

In July, I will begin one of Hal Higdon’s Half Marathon Novice training programs. I’ll have to give this more thought when I get there.

5. Find some sucker

I have solicited a few friends to join me, with some interest returned. I had a great walking partner, who very politely passed on trying to run the thing. I worry about someone with a quick or long stride because, as we’ve established, this is not my jam. I need someone who is determined to finish, but not super speedy.

So, here we go … 26 weeks and counting!

Wellness

It’s Turbo time

April 3, 2015

Tune in today to see if she can … tackle a Turbo Kick class.

When I was in high school, my parents had this dog, Faith. Faith started out as my brother’s dog, but a pattern of puppy passing was beginning and she eventually went to my folks. She was a weird blend of breeds and we often referred to her as Santa’s Little Helper (you know, from the Simpson’s). I am a big believer that people get one, maybe two, great four-legged companions in life, and the rest tend to be just … well, dogs. Faith was a dog. She was nervous and jittery and her hair fell out in clumps. But saddest of all, in her golden years, Faith started having the wackiest seizures. Honest to Henry, I once saw her come up onto her two back legs and hop across the kitchen, twitching like a kangaroo covered in fire ants. It was awful and, admittedly a little funny now, but I bring it up here for a very good reason. Tonight, I was Santa’s Little Helper.

At my best friend’s urging, I decided to try Turbo Kick. She, conveniently, was away for my debut and unable to witness the chaos that was my attempt at the routine or, better phrased, the complete collapse in communication between my brain and my extremities.

So many of my basic neurological functions failed me. The jabs … the uppercuts … the roundhouses … it was a system overload no one could have seen coming. I felt like the drunk girl at a dry reception. It’s not the single action so much as the combinations; combinations that repeated but never formed a logical sequence in my brain. And people were hooting. No judgement. Whatever gets ya juiced up. But it did make the tone a little like exercising in the rain forest exhibit at the zoo.

Just when a faint whisper of confidence, in the form of a knee-up-crossbody-jab series, crept closer, the instructor threw out a “jack with air”. I froze … an ironic choice of words considering I was sweating like Martha Stewart at a tax audit. It was intimidating in its simplicity. A jumping jack where the exerciser is expected to come a handful of inches up off the ground. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was my temporary coordination drought. Maybe I just failed at rule no. 76, to play like a champion. But I could not do it. Every time she came to “jack air” I faltered. Until finally …

I went for it. I anticipated it was coming and I used the last of the gas in my tubby-girl tank and leaped. Only, it didn’t look like everyone else’s. It was special. It was more spasm than sporty. It was a dolphin changing its mind mid-trick. It was so Santa’s Little Helper! It’s now my Everest.

After the class, the regulars were so sweet. Three of them actually came up and told a few of us we, “Did great for our first time.” Imagine that … strangers talking to strangers. What a concept. I think I’ll go back just for the stellar social scene.

Until next time …

Wellness

Spinning my wheels

March 14, 2015

Tune in today to see if she can … survive a spin class.

As a new gym goer, I am quietly, privately geeking out about all the classes. I love trying new things as it is, but a paid membership and knowledgeable instructor are even greater incentive to jump into a room full of strangers and sweat profusely. But I tend to obsess a bit and get anxious about finding the lay of the land.I really wanted to try a spin class. Because I have no experience and have not, for that matter, had a bike between my legs once in the past two years, I knew I was going to need reinforcements. I lined up both a coworker and my brother to meet me. Why is it so much easier to do new things when someone you know is there? What is that about? Anyway, it doesn’t matter now because both backed out by the end of the work day and I was thinking I would just go row. And then I thought, “You chicken shit. They aren’t going to help you pedal. Be bold and go in the direction of your dreams already!” Not that spinning is my dream, being skinnier and badass is, but I’m getting side tracked …So, I went. Right away people were moving bikes around and panic set in. In these situations, I tend to smile an obnoxiously large, twitchy smile and scan the room for the nicest face. I locked eyes with an older gentleman.“So, I have no clue what to do. Do I just grab any bike?”

“This is like my third class. But I think you want one of the red ones with the RPM reader,” he said.

Oh man … here we go … I don’t know what an RPM reader is and I have no clue how to move this bike. Newness makes me itchy.The instructor helped me adjust my seat height, handlebars and whatever the word is for how far forward your seat sits … fore-something (not skin or play). And then I clicked my toes into the little cages and it was time to start spinning. About 3 (yes, just 3) minutes in I was feeling good, and then she announced it was time to “come out of the saddle” and jog. Now, dear friends, first of all, I used to ride horses and that strip of pleather is not a saddle. No sir. It was at this point I realized two things: 1) I hadn’t been in my target heart rate zone in 18 months, and 2) this was going to kick my ass.

Thoughts that ran through my mind during CycleFit:

Are there special shoes for this, too? What a conspiracy.

There is no way she turned her dial to the right.

I need to stand up, I need to stand up, I need to stand up.

Is the bike moving? Oh my gosh, if this thing tips I am canceling my membership, effective immediately.

I have to sit down, I have to sit down, I have to sit down

If she says, “Here comes the hill,” one more time …

Is that sweat or is my crotch crying?

Can a person’s ass just break in two, right down the middle? I think it’s
happening.

In the end, I survived. And I will go back for sure … after my undercarriage heals, of course.

Wellness

Oil thrill

March 13, 2015

Tune in today to see if she can … clear the air and create a healthy, happy utopia using essential oils

I’m a sucker for a good holistic sales pitch. I just am. I think we give too many antibiotics and use too much antibacterial fluid. Things like “superbugs” keep me up at night and I don’t understand the flu shot. Having said all this, our winter was brutal. We had:

3 strepped throats

2 rounds of the flu (the last time all 5 of us were invited to the party)

3 sinus infections

1 terrifying case of RSV

And just a general hacky cough and sniffles for going on 5 months

I fear there is an evil living somewhere in our home and until we can open some windows and release its devilish hold on our immune systems, we are held hostage to its reign. So when a dear friend emailed about her essential oils party, I didn’t need much convincing. I was at a point where I was willing to try anything.

I believe this is the part where, in an effort to maintain some of your respect, I whole-heartedly admit that I have fallen down the rabbit hole. Way down. The smells, and the blends and the promises of lifted spirits and calm, sleepy children. It’s just too much. It’s also extremely overwhelming (and expensive).

I like to dabble, so I went with the DoTerra Family Physician’s Kit to start, which includes: Lavender, Lemon, Peppermint, Melaleuca, Oregano, Frankincense, Deep Blue®, Breathe, DigestZen®, On Guard® and Slim & Sassy.

Here is an honest report of what I’ve tried to this point and some early feedback.

Diffusing – I have put Wild Orange, Lemon, On Guard and Lavender into our atmosphere. They all smell amazing, but I think the trick here is going to be finding the right diffuser-space combination. I ordered a cute one and quickly realized it was more for a whisper next to my bedside than taking down flupocalypse ’15 in my open kitchen area. This is another facet of the hobby that can get pretty pricey; diffusers. I don’t need it to change colors or look like a tulip. I need it to be quiet and push that goodness into as much air as possible.

Tootsies – I have been rubbing Lavender on the older girls’ feet before bed. JoJo loves it and has said, at least once, it helped her sleep better. And she did stay in bed, which is a huge victory. The verdict is still out with Spikey.

Cheers – I’ve been putting a few drops of Lemon or Slim & Sassy in my water. The Lemon is supposed to help with stress and immunity, and the Slim & Sassy … I’m not really sure, but the name implies good things. They taste wonderful (it only takes a few drops) and it makes me drink more water (a Superwoman goal for sure). Also, when the flu bug set up shop in our cramping stomachs, I, who volunteered as oil tribute, seemed to have it the shortest amount of time.

Face – Just last night I put a few drops of Frankincense around my eyes before applying my moisturizer. My consultant does it and her skin glows like a lily on a dewy spring morning. I’m buyin what she’s sellin. I do think you need to dilute it in some lotion or oil though. It’s intense.I hear myself becoming that girl. While still a bit of a skeptic, I suggested peppermint oil for a coworker suffering from vertigo and I was wishing for a Happy Blend at a particularly low point in the day.

Here are a few things I want to try next:

Back Pain – Hank has a terrible back. The dude is crooked, no joke. So, when he stops thinking I’m crazy, I want to try Deep Blue to see if it offers any relief. Then I’m going to make him return the favor (wink, wink).

Cold Combatting – I picked up some Eucalyptus to try, and I also have the Breathe Blend, for the next time a sinus infection comes calling. I’m so eager to see if it works, I keep touching handles in public spaces but so far, nothing’s got me.

Flu Bomb or Bombs of any kind – I am all about this right here. Adults can take it like a shot, and kids can have it cut with oil and rubbed on their feet. Would have really loved this like 10 days ago, but all eyes forward.

Sleepy time – I ordered Vetiver for my nightstand diffuser and I think my dreams are going to be of me and Cheryl Strayed chatting as we stroll the PCT.

Follow my That’s the Rub board on Pinterest to see what you can mix up.

(Disclaimer: I’ve been learning about oils for like a week now, and my friend, Nurse Jackie, insists that there is much to educate yourself about here. So play with caution.)

Tune in Today, Wanderlust

With boots on her feet

February 26, 2015

Tune in today to see if she can … find hiking boots.

Like a million other women, I pulled back the cover of Wild and awakened a sleeping bear in the form of extreme wanderlust. As I read the autobiographical recount of days on the Pacific Crest Trail, I realized that I, too, want to walk until I exfoliate my suburban, mundane surface and expose feelings that typically hibernate under a warm blanket of daily to-dos and small little humans. I want to turn off my cell phone (I mean still take it, of course, just power it down.) and get lost in tall trees and winding trails. Honestly, the more I try to keep everyone on schedule, the more I really just want to get lost for a few days.I waxed poetic to my husband about the pages and pages, and steps and steps, that heroine (who did heroin) Cheryl Strayed took and how I felt like we should totally do that. We should be showing our girls that they should do that. I must have really sold it, because every birthday, Christmas and Valentine’s Day gift since has been an accessory to backpacking, including an actual backpack.

With my arsenal building, I have just a few essentials left before I go full-blown granola. At the top of my list is a pair of hiking boots. I have very few requirements. They must: 1) Have traction and ankle support because I,
like my Mother, am in a constant cage match against gravity. And, 2) Take me to places that change me.One more thing. I’m not a shopper. I hate driving from place to place and price comparisons and sales people and back orders and all that business. I buy – usually online – based on star ratings and alt shots and I am, basically, an E-Commerce director’s wet dream.

So, now we’re all caught up. I’ve been randomly dropping by REI’s site for months and have the field narrowed a bit, with options from the straight-up Cheryl Strayed style to total forest-chic.

I welcome trail testimonials, tales of fallen soles and tried-and-true recommendations. Help me lace up and chase my Wild side.

Until next time …

Wellness

Four ways to Whole30, family style

February 20, 2015

Tune in today to see if she can … feed her family healthfully for a whole month without igniting an uprising.

Considering most eaters under the age of 10 (and often well beyond that) would rather sit through a marathon of The Lawrence Welk Show than eat a sweet potato, one is safe to assume that month of massively healthy meals is going to go over like a pregnant pole vaulter. Not that I blame the kids, really. There are certain foods that are only acceptable to eat in that window between your first day of kindergarten and the first time you have to go to the grocery store and shop for your own sustenance. Things like Fruit Roll-Ups and tiny pieces of French toast made into cereal and candy sticks that you lick and then dip into granules of more sugar. They’re complete poison, but so much fun to eat!

In an ideal world – one where homes are installed with motion-sensored vacuums and muffin tops are just a sweet, starchy side – your kids would willingly devour the whole, natural foods you set before them. But in my house, anything other than a hot dog is met with a degree of distaste typically reserved for shots or “grown up shows”.With two rounds of the strict paleo Whole30 prescription behind me, I’ve acquired just shy of a handful of helpful ideas that might just buy you some slack (and hopefully success). That’s not to say these are gospel, but 60 percent of the time, they worked all the time.

1. when they deny, modify.

I liked to think of meals during those 30 days as a main course Mr. Potato Head. The base is the same for everyone at the table – say, it’s an actual potato in this case – but the accompaniments can be, to some degree, open to personal discretion. Let them dress their spud in shredded pork tenderloin, bacon, sour cream and cheese, while you pile on ghee, pork tenderloin, bacon and chives.more modifiable menu items: tacos or carnitas – Give them all the fixins, but make yours a salad with pico, guacamole and plantain chips for the crunch.burgers – Bypass the bun and play with some alternatives to sandwich your grassfed patty. I’ve tried giant mushrooms (good but messy), roasted sweet potato rounds (probably my favorite) and straight up with a fried egg.

chili – Compliant soup ingredients are often easy to find and comforting during colder months. Add plantain chips (tell yourself they’re Fritos) to your bowl while the kids nosh on a grilled cheese and oyster crackers with theirs.

eggs – Go for breakfast-dinner as a treat. Roll up their scramble in a flour
tortilla, but plate yours with a flavorful salsa, guacamole and approved bacon.

2. know your dealers.
It’s sad but shockingly true that eating healthfully, especially for a family of five, means paying more. Crap is cheap, apparently. In an effort to avoid blowing the budget, I had to source some of the good stuff outside of our neighborhood grocery.

Costco – Great for eggs, marinara, bacon, coconut oil and nuts (This post is great.)

Amish grocery store – Great for unsweetened coconut, dried fruit and dates, tapioca starch and almond meal

Vitacost and Amazon – Price check between these two for all oils, bars and
coconut flour

3. how they and your garden grow.
Start in the spring and plant the seeds, both literally and figuratively, with your kids. Put them in some old jeans, supply a small shovel and take them to a box of dirt. Do a quick search online and come to the great outdoors packing some killer, very careful not to be mundane here, factoids that turn their veggie-eating frowns upside down. It’s as simple as, “This is a bell pepper plant. Bell peppers have vitamin C, and vitamin C keeps colds away.” You smell what I’m steppin’ in.

If your thumbs are more Shellac than green, take the lesson to the produce section. Same concept. “This is an avocado. It has omega 3 fatty acids and those are good for your heart.” [Hand to side of mouth] “Plus, who doesn’t like a side of guac with their weekly marg, right? Am I right?”

Over the past five years, I’ve learned a few undeniable truths about these little folks. They always have to pee when the food comes. They have impenetrable selective hearing when within a 2-mile radius of anything animated. And they really, really want to grow. Tell them something will help them get big and strong like ___(insert favorite princess/superhero)____, and suddenly broccoli is their jam.

4. just try it on.

It’s tough love at its finest. They can not get up, watch a show, play with toys, have dessert, whatever gives them their jollies, until they at least try everything on their plate. Don’t put a big ole’ pile of sprouts on there. You’ll blow it. Just a few, entirely manageable pieces … nothing to freak out about. We go by age; five bites for JoJo, three bites for Spikey, etc. As soon as they comply, even if gagging ensues, we go ape shit with praise. Of course, it must be said, we do have about a 60 percent success rate here, with 35 percent abandonment and 5 percent actual vomit. Maybe put some newspaper down first or something.

Until next time …

Laughs

Sittin’ with her Slither, Slither, Slither

February 16, 2015

Tune in today to see if she can … give a child a beloved stuffed animal sidekick in one easy ~~mis~~step.

I have had some ugly coats, you guys. It’s not like I set out to make a name for myself with putrid outerwear. It just kind of happened. From my “fancy” pleather red trench with fake pockets, to a pseudo-sheep wool warmer from a 5-7-9-type joint, I guess it started in college. Then I had some decent years. (No, thank you, Target.)

But a revolting one-two punch of a fashion faux pas was brewing. There are those adorable gals who can carry a baby through the winter with just an endearing peek-a-boo from their blossoming belly thanks to an undone bottom button. Then there was me. I still remember my Mom picking up a maternity Emerald peacoat with a ruffly flair and dubbing it, “Adorable!”. If it sounds cute, I described it wrong. This jewel-toned shot of eye poison could only be dethroned by what would forever be referred to as, “the body bag” by my best girlfriends. I had asked Santa for a simple black winter jacket for my third pregnant Christmas. What I got was a dark, cylindrical cocoon of a coat with zippers down the side so that, if I were to grow beyond human comprehension, I could let them, as well as my girth, go completely.

But the era of eyesores was ending. This past Christmas, I sent my mom a link. I had picked a perfect parka; the parka to undo my tumultuous track record. Cute, right?

Then something stupid happened. I washed and dried it without removing the tickly fur trim. It went from wispy to old woman wig in one cycle. Only then did I notice the convenient buttons, and remove the matted mess.

An hour later a sweet little voice said, “Mama, can I have the hair from your coat?” It was JoJo, holding the strip of fur that served as an adorable flourish just yesterday. “Sure,” I replied. “Yessss! It’s going to be my snake, Slither!” And with that, a friendship was born. Slither has accompanied her to school, slept coiled up next to her in bed and starred in this short thriller set in the suburban jungle.

It’s really cute, and maybe a little of this …

But certainly, with a track of button holes and no sweet fake fur trim to attach, the coat has lost a bit of its luster and my street cred is, yet again, the only true victim in this story. I’ll go for cool again next Christmas.

Until next time …

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