Parenting, Uncategorized

Oh, Snap! My bikini top fell off.

I guess I ruined the surprise…but NOT for those families on the beach, who witnessed my bikini top come undone as I took off my sundress to swim! My 8-year-old started cracking up, chagrined, mouth agape, yelling, “Mom!” as I reflexively cupped my flesh and ran for cover. It was almost ironic that it happened, just as I finished telling her that I found those G-string bikinis that teens wear these days to be inappropriate and too revealing. (I mean, you can see their entire can)

Well, lo and behold, I was worse!

Ta-Da! Jazz hands... Take that, people. Here’s the real deal–oh, and no (G-) strings attached. Or any strings, for that matter.

It’s also interesting to note that the one day I decided to wear a bikini, as opposed to my typical one-piece, is the day I decided to go swimming. See, Moms don’t swim. Am I right? I had this conversation the other day with my friend. We (a) don’t want to have to get our hair wet, particularly if we just blew it out straight; (b) have no patience to scoot around on an innertube for more than a few tugs, and (c) hate being cold, wet, and stepping on crabs. In fact, my son had just caught a large, blue crab and released him nearby. No, thanks.

This is the image I found when I Googled “Wet and Cold Mom.” Hm.
But it was cute.

Anyhoo, I decided to swim today, because I was being nice. I took one for the team, and said I’d join the kids. And, I wore the bikini today only because I had not eaten yet, so I was kind of skinny and like a deflated snake. Of course, once I ate a bag of goldfish from the lunchbox I packed, I was immediately back to my old shape.

Normally, I eat breakfast. But, I have been watching this show on Netflix that features models and is about fashion, and I want to look like them. I mean, sure, I’m not 20. Or 30. Or even 40. But, I am aiming for the stars. So, I decided to skip breakfast and only have an apple for lunch. I planned to only eat apples for the week, because that’s how Christian Bale became super-thin for The Fighter and Anne Hathaway lost like a third grader to be malnutritioned for Les Miserables.

I’m not sure that aspiring to look like someone who is “miz” is a good thing? But, hey, apples worked.

Is it bad I want to look like this?

So, I ate one apple.

Then, I ate the goldfish at the beach, because I was starving. This led to last night’s left over steak tips, and here we are. Damn.

Maybe tomorrow.

Ya’ know what I won’t do tomorrow? Wear my string bikini to the beach.


A Slow Roll –and Halt–to Neutered Mom Town

I look like I’m having a midlife crisis, wearing my 8-year-old daughter’s Mexican floral blouse as a dress with matchy-matchy dangling earrings. It’s like a cross between Frida Kahlo and going out for margaritas on Cinco de Mayo. This got me thinking: what is up with my mom gear?

“I’d like salt on that margarita, along with female empowerment and pain”

I may need an intervention. This first occurred to me a few weeks back when I found myself shopping, for real, in the Chico’s store. I mean, when you’re shopping at Chico’s in your 40s, you may as well just put on an adult diaper and call it a day. No, that’s mean. Chico’s is fine—for someone else. Ha, that’s like when someone insults something you have in your closet, and they say, “No, it’s fine! It’s just not for me. I can see it’d be amazing on you!” No, you can’t; you’re just a bad liar. And not my friend anymore. Kiiiidding.

I recently went through my closet to pare down, realizing I was saving dresses, pants, and jeans (so sad…I will miss them) from my 20s and 30s that I will never fit into or wear again. During this cleanse, I was frightened by the number of Lilly Pulitzer dresses in my closet. It’s like someone barfed neon flowers in there. And, worse yet, I think I kind of hate Lilly now. Wait, for me, I mean…it’s fine on you.

I also have been dog-earing pages in the Talbot’s catalog. First of all, who even reads catalogs anymore? Well, I do, because it’s the only mail I actually enjoy, and magazine subscriptions are a thing of the past. Second, who dog-ears them? Like, make a decision. Buy it now or never. Third, Talbots is just one small step closer to Chico’s. It’s maybe a little more “profesh,” as in “I get my work clothes there.” But, that’s not true, because I legit just bought a cardigan there for my trip to Charleston that had pink, green, and blue buildings on it with green trees, and it looked like a South Carolina landscape. (LOL) I mean, it could be worse. I almost bought the Capri cropped salmon-colored jeans that matched it. I had them in hand and realized I was in neutered mom territory. That’s not good terrain.

Typically, swimwear choices can be an indication that you’re going down elderly lane, like when you have a one-piece with a skirt, or something with a ton of scrunching around the waist and a padded underwire. I haven’t gotten there yet. In fact, I may have gone the other way, because my son told me yesterday that I was wearing a “hooker bathing suit,” because there’s like this mesh, see-through material over part of it. I know that sounds kinda gross–the see-through part, not that my 11-year-old called me a hooker. Well, that’s a whole ‘nother issue. And also gross. But, yeah. Maybe I should toss that in the donation bag too.

Me: Who wants to go SWIMMING???

I did just splurge on some Prada sunglasses, which is beyond wasteful and stupid. It was more for retail therapy than anything. I wanted to make myself feel better after trying on a miniscule floral sundress at H&M that was skintight and 2 inches below my underwear. I looked like Blossom in that 80s sitcom, Blossom. I mean, I have no business shopping at H&M anymore. However, I DID find a cute leopard blouse, which I bought, and I probs look more like a cougar than a leopard in it...Note to self: don’t wear that to a bar after 8 p.m.

All this is to say, I am reevaluating my clothing choices. It’s easier to focus on this, of course, than to focus on the multitude of other more important things in my life, like wanting to get my book published or making more money…but, hey, at least I’m being productive!