The New Rules of the Working Mom Reality – Part 2

Recently, I explained the New Reality of the Working Mom to The Boys.  But after a few weeks in the trenches, I realized I left someone important out of the mix.  Someone else who needs learn the ins-and-outs of the Working Mom World.

That would be me.

I’m a little out of practice.

So to help those of you who are making that transition from stay-at-home-mom to Work for Pay, I’m going to share my experiences. It’ll save you a good solid month of workplace embarrassment.

You’re welcome. [Read more…]

The New Rules of the Working Mom Reality











Dear Younger Boy and Older Boy,

As you may or may not have noticed, I’ve been at your beck and call for the last fourteen years.  I, your faithful indentured servant, have been available 24/7.  No lunch money?  I delivered.  Needed a ride?  I was there.  Forgot to clean your room?  It was done.

No doubt, I have been working.  And I’ve been well paid in the currency of stay-at-home momhood – glitter glue cards and spontaneous hugs.

But we’ve entered a new phase.  You’re both in high school and I’m bored.  So I’ve got BIG news. No, it’s NOT a baby brother.  [Read more…]

Confessions of a Fashion Tween

I’ve hit that magical age of clothes shopping, when you’re no longer able to shop in the Junior department with a straight face but not yet ready to give up the fashion ghost to polyester tiger print slacks, a fanny pack and K-mart slippers and white socks like my grandma used to wear.

Because it’s next stop Alfred Dunner separates.

It’s the Twilight Zone of women’s clothing where trying to be too hip leaves you looking like you are pathetically clutching the shards of your youth.  Catalogues offer the only thing that comes close to middle-age appropriate wear but that’s just not good enough to satisfy my inner-impulse shopper.

The clothing choices for us middle-aged tweens are pathetic. Because now inseams are now measured in centimeters rather than inches.  Some of the skirts are so tiny that I’d need two, one for each thigh.  I held up one of these microscopic garments, roughly the size of a car visor, and wondered who on earth could actually wear it.

Because if I tried it would look like I was wearing a neck warmer on my meno-pot.

Jeans are no better.  The low cut, low riders, so popular in my teenage years have reemerged on the scene.  While a thong may look cute peeking out of the top of these, it’s a safe bet that seven inches of the Granny Panty do not.

I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing those cutesy, tiny shorts with Cheer! or God forbid, Sweet Thang emblazoned across my rump.  But now seizing the booty-licious advertising potential, everyone including the college marketing folks have gotten in on the act.  Now I see young women at the gym sporting Bobcats on their fannies.  My alma mater is no exception.  Unfortunately those in my size are a little too informative: University of Louisville, est. 1798, Home of the Fighting Cardinals, For season ticket information call: (502) 852-5555.

They even dare to market belly shirts to women of my age.  While there are about 4 of you out there who could pull it off, I think it should go without saying: if you have a belly, just say no.  If I dared to don one of these and put my middle-age muffin tops on public display, I’d be cuffed and stuffed by the fashion police.

[Read more…]

Frights of Fashion

I thought I had more sense than to do something so foolish. But after dropping off the kids at school, I decided to dash into Wal-Mart for a gallon of milk and dog food. Except I realized that not only was I braless, I was wearing this:


This is not a good look.

In fact, it dawned on me that I was dressed just like Grandma Kate on her daily outings to “The Wal-Mart” as she called it. Only she wore slippers. So I guess it’s a slight improvement.

Despite my lack of fashion sense, since high school, I’ve lived in mortal fear of finding myself in Glamour Magazine’s old back page feature – Fashion Dont’s. I remember in the 80s flipping to it each month and looking in horror at these poor women who were unsuspectingly captured as they strolled the streets of New York City thinking they were looking damn fine. There they were, black bars over their eyes, clad in in some visually offensive combination of a jacket with shoulder pads as wide as a refrigerator box, neon leg warmers over spandex pants with five inch spike heels and the worst of all, the off-the-shoulder, ripped sweat shirt a la Flashdance. A short narrative below each picture outlined the infractions as observed by the fashion police. And I was pretty sure that one day I was going to be there.


Clearly my fears were based in reality

So why do I care about a simple fashion infraction while running errands? Because I found the Big Box store equivalent of my feared Fashion Dont’s, The People of Wal-Mart , that’s why. What’s even more alarming than looking at the pictures is realizing that I share DNA with half of the mullet-headed ones from Kentucky. And sadly, there are a few roaming the aisles that I probably dated in the 80s.

I could most likely offer a plausible explanation to the police officer who pulled me over as to why I’m wearing my super-cute, red flannel Scottie dog PJ bottoms and slippers after dropping my kids off at school. But I’m going to have some ‘splaining to do if I turn up as Miss March on The People of Wal-Mart.

*Ten bonus points if you got the Ricky Ricardo, I Love Lucy reference

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