You're going to a dance AKA why I'll never let my mother pick out my clothes

I sort of view this entry as a companion piece to the one I just published.


About two years ago, my mother, sister and I were in the mall. I was looking for a pair of shoes to go with a dress I'd planned on wearing to the annual "Sweet Valley Middle School Christmas Party" So, my mother picks up a pair of shoes. Flat, black and pointy patent leather with a bow on them. Something I'd never wear and she told them they'd be perfect for me. I took one look at them and tried not to laugh. My sister, who's never short on things to say took one look at them and said, "you're going to wear those? They look like something a fourth grader would wear." Then I got into the spirit and said, "Oh I can see it now, here I am almost 40 and I'd wear these shoes out and people would think I'm a mentally challenged 40 year old going to her first dance. You're going to a dance!!! People would crow. How nice for you!!" While I certainly have nothing against the mentally challenged and am all for them going to dances, I really did not want to be perceived as one based upon my footwear. My mother, of course, was highly offended and told us if we wanted her, she'd be over at Sears.

This is precisely why I would rather she not pick out my clothes for me. Her idea of a great outfit is something I like to call "Garanimals for Grown-ups" You know, that clothing women of a certain age wear where everything in the store matches everything else. There is nary a zipper or button in sight. There is, however, miles of elastic waist bands. Now, I have nothing against elastic, it just to me, feels like I've given up. If wwha I'm wearing to work is so comfortable that I can wear it to bed, there's a problem.

Last Christmas, she bought me a sweatshirt with an embroidered cartoon dog on it. A sweatshirt that says, "Life is better when shared with a dog." While I may wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment, wearing it out in public is another matter. I have since donated the sweatshirt to charity where I hope it goes to an animal lover that enjoys cartoon dogs.

So, in all of this, what did I learn? I learned that just because you love your mother that doesn't mean you need to share everything with her, that includes taste in clothing. Oh, and by the way, if you're looking for me, I'll be no where near Sears. That's what I learned today.

Happy Mother's Day, I love you mom.

The "Holiday Sweater vs. Mother of the Bride" smackdown

Today, I went out to eat with my mother for Mother's Day. While waiting 2 hours for cold food, I started to notice what other women were wearing. In all of the uncomfortable pauses that come with waiting 2 hours for your food, I formulated this theory. When it comes to getting dressed to go out, there are two kinds of women: Holiday Sweater and Mother of the Bride. Please, allow me to explain.

First up is Holiday Sweater. This woman believes all you need to do to get dressed up is wear one thing that is shiny or has some type of decoration on it. My mother, bless her heart, falls into this category. She never goes out without some type of insect or animal embroidered on her clothing. This type of woman will go to a party in the summer wearing shorts and shiny flip flops, and consider herself dressed. She is the type of woman that would rather be there then be dressed to get there. Her key word is comfort. As long as she's comfortable in what she's wearing, she's happy. She looks upon mother of the bride with a mixture of confusion and pity. A look that seems to say, "What on earth were you thinking?!? Can you even stand in those shoes? Who wears a girdle to Charlie Brown's? I used to be Holiday Sweater. Her only competition is, you guessed it, mother of the bride.

Mother of the bride is an entirely different animal. Mother of the bride spends at least an hour getting ready, no matter where she's going. If she wants to wear her evening gown to Charlie Brown's Steakhouse, no one is going to tell her no. She's the type of woman who spends an hour getting dressed and made up to go to the supermarket. Any night out is an excuse for her to get as gussied up as she can and pile on what she can so everyone can notice the time and effort she's spent getting ready. Her motto is, "If it's comfortable, it's probably boring". She looks at Holiday Sweater and thinks, "Didn't your mother ever teach you how to dress? Not every place is the beach." As you can imagine, while these two smile at each other and wish them well, deep down they just don't get it.

Like I said before, I used to be holiday sweater. Now I am a proud member of the "Mother of the Bride" party. If I could find a dress that shoots fireworks out of it, I'd probably buy it. I almost bought a pair of 5 inch heels today, but alas they didn't have my size. I thought about squeezing into them anyway, but in all honesty, I didn't want to give holiday sweater any more to talk about.

So, now that you know what I am, what are you?

That's what I learned today.

Who Do You Think You Are?

Today, I was talking with a colleague of mine at Sweet Valley Middle School and I realized that for the beautiful person that she is, she still puts a great deal of her self-worth into her job. That got me thinking: where does who we think we are come from?

I, as you may know, spent most of my adult life as a very over wieght person. Funny enough, though, I never really spent much time thinking about it. Yes, I'd look in the mirror and be unhappy with what I saw, but most of the time, I thought I looked fine.

When it came to work, I did the best I could and sometimes it was brilliant and sometimes it sucked, but I did what I could do. It never occurred to me that maybe I should relate what I felt about myself to the type of job I was doing.

Several months ago, I was talking to a woman I work with, I'll call her "Dory". Well, "Dory"says to me, "don't you feel so much better about yourself now that you've lost weight?" I looked at her confused for a moment and said, in all honesty "I never really felt that bad about myself to begin with." It really got me thinking, "should I have felt bad about myself?" Now, I'm more confused than ever. If I felt ok about myself before I lost weight, what am I doing it now for? It's a wonder I ever got to sleep at night.

I used to work in a middle school in Florida, one I'll call "Orange Middle School". Well, the principal of the school tells me that she won't sign off on my probation, because I have what she deemed a "self-esteem issue" I asked her if she meant that maybe she thought my self-esteem was too low. "No" she says "It's just the opposite"

I ended up leaving that job, the only job I'd ever left (and hopefully ever will) because my self-esteem was just too darn high.

I know who I am, what I look like and what I'm capable of. If that's high esteem, then I don't really get it, I think I'm cool most of the time, but at times I can be a complete idiot.

I guess what I'm trying to say is self-esteem can only be found in you. If you try to look for it in other places or things, you'll only be disappointed. That's what I learned today.