Random quote

I'm reading this book - What Alice Forgot - and I just came across this quote that was just so... poignant that I had to type it out and keep it.

"...but the rule of life was that the boys got to decide which girls were pretty; it didn't really matter how ugly they were themselves."

Style Me

I recently had a wedding to go to and the afternoon of said evening wedding, I starting running around like a chicken going "what am I going to wear? Argh!" Unlike the last wedding I attended (a double wedding for 2 of my step-brothers and their beloveds) I hadn't spent a lot of time focusing on my wardrobe because I didn't have the huge constraints I had last time (being 6 weeks postpartum and needing to find a dress I could nurse in without having to strip in the bathroom every 2-3 hours), so I hadn't had much thought in it. That and September really seemed to sneak away from me quickly "No, Wally's wedding isn't until the end of the month, the 28th, I think - what do you mean it's the 28th already? That's crazy."

So I went to my Luckies and asked (because between them, someone always has an answer) and someone suggested I throw on a pair of "F-me pumps and a LBD and (I'd) be golden!" And then it hit me. I don't have any F-me pumps. (I haven't worn heels since I broke my foot last March and even then I hadn't worn many since before Fuss was born.) And my Little Black Dress... well, the closest thing I've got to that is the dress I wore to my step-brothers' wedding and it really isn't that great...

Ultimately, I ransacked my mom's closet and wore an outfit that might have made me look older than I actually was (it was my mom's closet after all...) but the good news was that we were either significantly older (10 years or so?) or significantly younger (15+ years or so?) to anyone else in attendance, so age didn't really matter that much. I coupled it with my go-to black flats and a mostly-black skirt purse from Thirty-One and I looked pretty put together, I think.

But I seriously need help. I wear a rotation of jeans/denim skirt/black capris/denim capris almost every day. That's pretty much all I have that fits (and sometimes that's debatable. My black capris were my fat pants and - hallelujah - they tend to fall off me now... not so much that they puddle around my ankles, but enough that every time I stand up from sitting I have to hike them back up to my hips or risk showing off my undies).

I have a handful or go-to tops - not as casual or sloppy as a t-shirt, but nothing fancy, either. A grey one, a green one, a brown one, a couple blue ones, a couple purple ones, and a whole lotta black ones.

I was at Target this morning and I saw these

 on sale and I was so motivated to get them. I mean, sexy right? Totally not my usual style - I never wear red, rarely wear "cranberry" (except on my fingernails - that's my go-to color for nail polish). But my girl friend (via text message) and my 4-year-old talked me into them.

So now, what do I wear with them? Jeans? Black pants? Do I have to match them? Black top? Cranberry top? Can I wear them with anything?

Random judgement

When did I get so judgmental? I find myself looking at people I don't really know and making assumptions and whatnot all the time lately...

Like the PreK teacher at my daughter's school - not HER teacher, but one from another class. I see how thin and young she is and how she always looks so pulled together and dresses trendy and I think "really? you're a teacher of 4-year-olds. A scarf? In Florida? With this as your job? You must not have kids of your own..." but I know that my sister-in-law who teaches at the school loves this lady, thinks she's a great teacher and wanted Fuss in her class originally. To be honest, I'm incredibly glad that she is in the class she is in, but why am I having these thoughts?

Music Building

Fuss is going to school on a campus where I spent 13 years of my life. There are a lot of memories tied up in that school - friendships, mentors, heartaches, victories. And every day when I drive on to the property and park my car, I park in the parking lot nearest the music building. Some days I barely notice it. But on days like today, my longing to go inside and say hello to my old choir director are fierce and intensely strong.

But she isn't there.

Mrs. Wells is the crazy lady in the middle. This was taken at the end of my Sr year, 1998. (And I have no idea what my friend Matty is smoking - he didn't smoke, so this is truly an oddity.)

I spent 7 of those 13 years being taught by her. (more if you count the years early in my life where she taught me piano lessons privately.) And SHE built that building. Maybe not with her own two hands or anything, but it was her passion and drive that got it done. It was her excitement that her there every day, checking it out, tweaking the plans and details to make it a great building for all the little musicians who would make a joyful noise within it's walls for years to come. I was part of the first choir to sing a song in that building - there were no doors that night, no carpet, no paint. We stood on a huge pile of drywall to do our performance. I remember it SO clearly.

There may be another family's name on the plaque outside, (the school has a long history of naming buildings after people who long-ago had something to do with the development of the school) but to me, and to many other students that sang with me - it will always be the V. Wells Music Building.

She left 15 years ago. The crappy administration at the time pushed her out and it broke her heart to leave. She taught at other schools for several more years before she succumbed to liver cancer at way too young of an age. My friends and I cried our way through singing at her funeral 4 years ago. (approximately 10 years or more after we all graduated) (this pic was taken in high school, but most of these girls were in attendance at her funeral and we all sang for her.)


I miss her dearly. Many of my happiest and most memorable hours were in her class. Some of my most stressful, too, if we're being honest. We put on performance after performance, we put on musicals and competitions. And my high school life would have been incredibly, painfully, bland if it weren't for Concert Choir, Singers, and most of all, Mrs Wells.

I know she is in heaven, probably singing in the angel choir. I know her children miss her every day. I can't speak for the thousands of students whose lives she touched, but I can speak for myself. I miss her fiercely. I only wish I could walk back into that building and sit on her couch and chat with her like I used to.

Unsatisfied

We have become such a society of excess, of "more" and of "me too". The Little Man just had a birthday and I was trying to come up with a good gift for him. I stumbled across some trucks - all sorts - in the grocery store one day and since they were bigger than matchbox cars (which he loves, but his little hands seem to do better with bigger) and seemed really sturdy like the older ones he plays with at my Gram's house (which he loves) AND had openable doors (another feature of one or 2 of the one's at Gigi's house - he loves that, too) and it was cheap ($4?) I snatched up one for him. He LOVES it. Doesn't want to put it down. Wants to carry it everywhere, wants to sleep with it, roll it over every surface, etc. A week after he'd received it, it was still his favorite play thing, having replaced the much more annoying and "dangerous" (to the rest of us) plastic bat my dad had given him. I remember thinking the other day, "well, that turned out good. I should go get more!"

And then I stopped myself. Why does he need more? He has plenty of cars in general and he likes most of them. Some are more special than others, and with the exception of this red truck, he even lets his sister play with them without much incident since there are so many of them. But does he need more of them? Of course not.

The thing is, I know I'm not the only one. And I don't just tend toward this excess in the realm of possessions, either. Do you know how frustrated I get driving in the car when I can't do multiple things at once? I drive along thinking about all the things I need to do - things I need to look up online, people I need to contact, promotions for my Thirty-One business I want to run, people I need to call, projects I need to pursue... and I get so frustrated that I can't do them while "wasting my time" driving. I think if the public transportation didn't stink so much around here (and I didn't have to haul around 2 little kids) I might take advantage of it, just so I could text/research/write while commuting to wherever it was that I needed to go.

But isn't it sometimes nice to take a break? Shouldn't it be more relaxing to step away from my computer screen and put my phone down? And yet I am stressed by it and constantly thinking of it as "wasted time." I find that weird, when I sit down to think about it.

Even this blog post began in my head while in the car. I had to grab my notebook out of my bag and try to jot down a handful of notes at stoplights. I wish I knew a trick for settling my mind down a little better. I try not to text while actually driving - I try to wait until stoplights or whatever. But I feel this urgency when I get a text or a thought that needs to be texted. I feel like it's rude to not answer right away. Am I the only one who feels this way? Am I crazy?

Two

My Little Man turned two on Sunday. I'm having trouble believing that. He doesn't talk nearly as much as his sister did at this age, but he is growing exponentially of late - both in communication development and size and strength. I am amazed.

He got cars, balls, clothes and a bean bag chair for his birthday from the family. All sorts of Hot Wheels and the like are very popular, balls are always a favorite (he got a foam football and a set of small beanbag sports balls, several Spiderman balls, a tee for learning teeball, etc.) and his favorite characters (in no particular order) are Spiderman, Mickey Mouse, and Clifford the Big Red Dog. And any Rays baseball player (but Auntie Amy wants to marry Evan Longoria).

He's a very happy boy - would be even happier if his sister hadn't given him a cold (that developed into yet another ear infection) for his birthday.