My Recovery from Mom Jeans

by Tonia

"The finest clothing made is a person's own skin, but, of course, society demands something more than this." - Mark Twain

I have no fashion sense. While I probably dress better than a typical Walmart shopper, after 50-something years, I still have no idea what looks good on me. I know this is true because my daughters tell me on a weekly basis:

-- “Please say that you are just working in the garden today!”

-- “Mom, that dress looks like bad wallpaper with a zipper.”

-- “If you wear that, you’re riding alone because I’m going in my own car.”

I admit that on a recent ski trip I wore Rachel’s sweater from middle school. I thought it was a very cute, ski-like outfit. Guess not. When I came downstairs for breakfast, she and Anna burst into hysterical laughter and moved to another table. Damn brats.

They once advised me to buy some really cute boots so that I would look more up to date. OK. I get it. Get people to look at my feet instead of my aging face and body. I wore them to work and thought I was going to have to call for a wheelchair to get from the parking garage to my office. I stayed seated the entire rest of the day and stayed late so that, after all my colleagues left, I could rip those fuckers off my feet and go back to my car barefooted.

One time Anna went shopping with me to get some jeans. Guess I’ve been wearing the dreaded, long-butt “Mom” jeans. Every pair she wanted me to try on felt like I was one bend-over from a plumbers’ look. She insisted that I find some where the pockets ended below the bottom of my ass. Supposedly it makes the butt look better. Honey, if that’s the case, I need pockets in more strategic places than just my ass!                                                          

Here are Anna’s “rules” for avoiding the long-butt, “Mom” jean look (now programmed into my phone):

   (1) Stay away from jeans that come in small, 
medium and large sizes – code for “Mom” jean.

   (2) Shun jeans without back pockets or where you can’t tell the front from the back. Your rear-end will look like a gravity-inflicted watermelon was shoved into the back of your pants.

   (3) Avoid jeans where your socks show while standing. Not the “Mom” jean look – just dorky.

   (4) Look for jeans with a definitive break where your butt ends and your legs begin. Otherwise, your butt ends up with an infinity effect….

   (5) Finally, keep away from a completely elastic waist. Now you’ve gone way beyond “Mom” jeans. You’ve gone to jean hell.

For your next girlfriends’ get-together, have a Progressive Fashion Consulting Hor d’oeuvres Party. Each friend whose home is used lays out her main wardrobe pieces that she doesn’t know quite what to do with. As she asks her girlfriends questions and/or tries on things for advice, everyone is able to nibble on goodies. Time limit should be 30 min. at each house. Here is a fun recipe to match the theme! 

The Party Dress Veggie Pizzas

Roll out refrigerated crescent roll dough and cut with a dress cookie cutter. Place on a cookie sheet and bake for 10 minutes. Mix one 8 oz package of cream cheese with half a package of Hidden Valley Fiesta Ranch Dip Mix. Once the “dresses” have cooled, spread the cream cheese mixture on each dress. Design your Vera Wang gown with items such as:  red bell pepper, pimento, sliced American cheese, chopped black olives, grated carrot, cherry tomato, spinach leaves, broccoli, cucumber strips, etc. 

Tell us your fashion faux pas!!

Awww, Motherhood....

by Tonia

"People are giving birth underwater now. They say it's less traumatic for the baby because it's in water. But certainly more traumatic for the other people in the pool." - Elayne Boosler

Aww, motherhood......often begins with pregnancy. Back in the days when I was knocked up we couldn't find out the gender of our unborn babies - it was a surprise. Personally, I thought it was surprise enough to see a human head coming out my vagina but then I got another surprise when I saw its genitalia slide on out. I got surprised three times -- and each one produced a child (you know how one worries).

One (of the many) problems with having children is that they are not returnable. They come. They stay. They stay for a very loooong time. I always thought I'd be the perfect mother, but that delusion quickly turned to desperate prayers of, "O God, if you'll help me not kill them, I promise to quit fantasizing about the lawn boy." I also prayed for the FDA to approve tranquilizer guns for children but that prayer was never answered. I agree with Ed Asner, "Raising kids is part joy and part guerrilla warfare."

But the years flew by. I let them live and now have three grown children - and most of my sanity (well.......). I think they may even have forgiven me. And because of this colossal accomplishment, I'd like to share what I have learned about motherhood from each developmental stage. Tell me if you agree.

Things I learned as a mom of young children:

-- Small Legos will indeed pass through the digestive tract.

-- When a child doesn't want his picture taken, give it up. It's easier to balance the national budget.

-- Diaper backwards spells 'repaid'.

-- If you run out of milk you can add baby formula to mashed potatoes. (Other great cooking tips to follow in another blog.)

Things I learned as a mom of school-aged children:

-- If you have trouble getting your child's attention, just sit down and look comfortable.

-- If vomit is spewing from your child's mouth, don't try to run to the bathroom with the vomiter... it leaves a trail.

-- There are fifty shades of pink eye.

-- Dropping off children at school in your nightgown and robe will guarantee that you run out of gas....even if you have a full tank.

Things I learned as a mom of teens:

-- Standing mailboxes are only temporary house ornaments when teaching teens to drive.

-- Eye rolling, foot stomping, door slamming and OMGing can happen in a single motion... and at Olympic performance levels.

-- Zits are claims to be absent from school. Don’t fall for it.

-- Teens only threaten to run away. They rarely do. But the thought of it helps.

 Things I am STILL learning as a mom of adult children (God help me):

-- Don't give advice.

-- Humans are NOT the smartest species - we let our children return home after they are grown.

-- Don't give advice.

-- Giving grandkids giant chocolate sundaes with Coke to drink just before their parents arrive to pick them up is fabulous revenge.

-- Don't give advice.

-- Oh yeah, and don't give advice.

A fun girlfriends' get-together is a WEARY MOM PARTY. Activity ideas:

(1) Have everyone bring the weariest-looking picture they have of themselves and create a collage to hang. 

(2) Give everyone 3 index cards and ask them to write down 3 ways they have embarrassed their children (one on each card). Post these on the walls around the room and ask everyone to go around and mark the ones that they, too, have been guilty of. See which child-embarrassing behavior wins. 

(3) Create a Mothering Mistakes Bingo game (i.e. "Let my child eat ice cream for breakfast," "Forgot to pick up my child," "Used 
the TV as a babysitter," "Lied to my child," etc.)

Anxiety Girl

By Anna 

"Love looks forward, hate looks back, anxiety has eyes all over its head." - Mignon McLaughlin

Anxiety sucks. I know, because as a child the Bluebird of Happiness flipped me the bird and the Blue-hawk of Worry descended on me instead. I worry about work; I worry about my family; I worry about my car. I worry about my health, my teeth, the crack developing in the driveway, the tiny mole I just discovered on the back of my hand.…..you get the picture.

In fact, the only time that I am worry free is when I’m having a panic attack.

And the only fear that I DON’T seem to have is arachibutyrophobia – the fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of my mouth. Yea, don’t have that one.

At night I try to turn away from worry by flip flopping in my bed – but that only leads to dreams of jumping off a ship, the world ending, running from a tsunami or hiding from raining asteroids. It’s exhausting. Then morning comes.

That’s when I start worrying about what to wear to work. I'm constantly thinking what the staff and managers will think about this/that outfit, these/those shoes: heels/no heels. And, by the time I leave for work, everything from my closet is in my bed and I'm running late. And the anxiety goes on…....

Research says 40 million Americans suffer with some kind of anxiety. Guess I’m not alone.  But where are you people?? You must be hiding. I will no longer be ashamed! I’m now admitting that I’m powerless and I'm taking one anxiety attack at a time.

So, in that vein, why not have a girlfriends’ Panic Party? Create some games that let your girlfriends laugh about their anxieties, depressions and self doubt – like a Bingo Game with squares such as Fear of Teenagers, Fear of Rectal Disease, Fear of Nudity, Fear of Farting During Sex, Fear of Staying Single Forever. You get the picture. And don’t forget to fix your Panic Potion drink.

PANIC  POTION

3/4 oz. Crown Royal 

2/4 oz. Peach Schnapps 

1/4 oz. Coconut Rum 

2/4 oz. Cranberry Juice 

1 cup Red Bull Energy Drink

Qty: 2 

Directions: Grab your shaker and put some ice in it. Don't second guess the quantity no matter how much it is. Pour in the crown, peach schnapps, coconut rum and cranberry juice, and shake. It will get cold but, DON’T WORRY, your hand won’t freeze to the shaker.

Pour the mixture between 2 shot glasses. Take 3 slow, deep breaths. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Now fill 2 high ball glasses with 1/2 cup each of Red Bull. Drop one shot glass into each high ball glass of Red Bull. It's OK, you can wipe any spills up later. And, no, it won't break. I wouldn’t ask you to drink broken glass.

Then shoot the whole thing. But go easy or, yes, you will chip a tooth. Enjoy! 

No Rest in the Restroom

by Tonia

I’m not crazy about public restrooms but since I have a “tiny tank” I frequent them wherever I go. Guess that makes me a toilet expert.

First let me say, I want to decide when I'm finished. I want to flush all by myself - like a big girl. I hate those pseudo-psychic/automated toilets who think they know more than I do. I either have to roll my ass around in front of the censors like a pole dancer to make them work or I get sprayed by the stream of water that shoots out like a fire hose. It makes me want to pee sideways in stealth mode so the censors never see me.

Occasionally there is toilet paper available in the stalls. When this happens, it is typically of the pine cone/steel wool/wood chip/sand paper variety. But more often, there is NOT toilet paper and I have to go on a scavenger hunt in my purse for something to wipe with because I’m not crazy about the drip-dry method. This is when I end up wiping with a Chicklet wrapper. I never seem to have anything big enough to really cover the territory.

And of course there is the entertainment on the walls - the word search of curse words, the gallery of artwork, and the address book of potential good time dates. Love a good read. One time I went into a restroom where the mirror was missing and someone had written in its place, “You look fine.” Thanks. Saved me time putting on lipstick.

So why do we call these places RESTrooms? Are people secretly napping in the stalls? Do the toilets turn into recliners when the censors are off? Is there meditation at the sinks? I get no rest in there. I just get wet.

For your next girlfriends’ get-together have a purse scavenger hunt. See who can produce the largest number of a list of items. Here are some ideas:

- underwear
- ex-partner's picture

- condoms

- gynecologist appt card

- Legos

- already chewed gum

- food of any sort

- sex toy

- coupon for dry cleaning

- cologne

- pacifier

What are some of YOUR ideas for the Purse Scavenger Hunt?