SO, I made a vow a few months back to officially fight the fug and get my style on despite constantly being spit up on.
I'd give myself a C+. I made an effort with some cute summer dresses, and some even cuter trapeze tops, but most of my days found me in casual wear that included the much maligned capris and my go-to denim gauchos.
Prêt-à-porter I was not....but slightly improved nonetheless.
As I now turn to the fall fashions, I am so excited as it is my favorite time of year. (Sweaters, and boots, and jeans, oh my!) I am convinced that this is really my time to make an attempt at being fashionably forward and, in doing so, I am all set to tuck my jeans into the boots (I didn't have the guts last year), belt my sweaters, get a chic, cropped motorcycle jacket, and even make an attempt at a non-diaper bag purse (though the latter is probably not going to work).
In fact, I started pulling out looks from magazines just yesterday as my little ones enjoyed a morning cartoon. I was confident, excited, and very much in denial.
And there she was.
Caillou had ended and she came on the television looking shiny, happy, and very concerned over her egregious mistake of watering down her children's juice with water. Apparently, diluting juice also dilutes the nutrients...and she calls herself a parent!
She was so annoying...her and all her Mott's for Tots juice drinks for toddlers. She had seen the light and restored her status as the perfect mom and I wanted to throw my magazine at the perky little thing for making me worry about yet another thing I was doing to my children.
She was awful. She even stirred her apple juice with a wooden spoon in a glass pitcher. Who does that? Ugh!....and then I saw it.
She was wearing my shirt.
The green one with the subtle ruffle along the button line. How could we possibly have chosen the same shirt? Now I just hated myself.
Clearly, I would need a lot more work than I originally realized.
2 years ago