Pink and Purple

Have you ever bought an article of clothing or accessory for yourself because your toddler LOVED you in it? Perhaps the item was not entirely you, but the sparkle in your child's eyes or sweet song in her voice just melted away your own preference.

Well, I just purchased a top at a bargain that I thought looked great on me in the store. After trying it on again at home, I realized it did not flatter me as much as I'd thought. (How many times have we all experienced that strange phenomenon?!) I stood in the bathroom inspecting the less-than-ideal fit for my figure with my daughter watching nearby. I decided I should return it but then noticed my daughter's expression. Kind of like, "Wow, cool!" I asked if she liked it, to which she softly replied, "Uh-huh" and gently reached up to touch the ruffling along the neckline. It then occurred to me that it came in her two favorite colors, pink and purple. I don't think I have a pink and purple top, so she must enjoy seeing me in the colors. So... I guess I will be keeping it.

Here I am in my new pink and purple top. Flattering or not, I guess I'll be hanging it up in my closet.

Mama's Boys

My daughters are like boys in many ways, and I like that. I grew up with brothers, joining them in playing football, cops and robbers, and other games they enjoyed. If the girls had an older brother, they'd be in seventh heaven.

For as long as I can remember, I never been lady-like. I always wanted to cut up and be comedic while other girls smiled sweetly. An old audiotape (a reel to reel converted to a CD) I recently rediscovered from the early 1970s demonstrates my not-so-girly tendencies. Into the microphone, I'd exclaim things like "Hiccup! Burp" Or, I'd yell "Woo-hoo! Yeah!" like a glitter glam rock star's performance. My mom would sigh and say, "Jennifer's being silly again."

Well, at Twyla's Easter party at preschool last week, several kids were screwing around being goofy--three boys and one girl, my daughter. The rest of the girls in class ate their treats quietly and contently (and neatly). Twyla was just one of the boys and having a ball with it. For years, I assumed having two brothers determined my personality, but now, with my daughter displaying the same behavior, I guess being a playful flaky kid who liked to roughhouse was innately me. Twyla likes to jump into your arms from the steps when you least expect it. It gives us a heart attack because we are unprepared for it. A few weeks ago over the phone, my father brought up (without my mentioning Twyla's love of unannounced leaping) that I used to, without warning, jump off the couch for my dad to catch me. It had nothing to do with brothers, and I pass this daredevil gene onto my daughter, I'm afraid. Lucy displays some of it too, but she has yet to fully grow into it.

Here's my favorite pic of the girls and me in the Easter dresses I sewed. A serious, sweet pose would be nice, but they would much rather "horse around," which is why I like this photo.

Hobnobbing With "Brangelina"

The MOMS Club spring party today was so much fun on such a beautiful albeit pollen-filled day! The kids all really loved the food and the egg hunt, and I needed some kind of party to go to as well. Here's why.

My husband came home last night from 3 days in New Orleans doing his lighting controls sales. I asked him if he had some good Louisiana food in the "Big Easy," but he was reluctant to tell me. He knows I get jealous because while he sometimes is wined and dined, I am likely at home eating a peanut butter sandwich in between helping Twyla practice wiping better after pooping and telling Lucy to stop sticking her fingers in the dog's mouth and then into her own, and so on. I told him it was okay to tell me, as I could use a pick-me-up of hearing about interesting things in the outside world after being stuck at home. So he proceeds to tell me about this awesome upscale restaurant they went to in the French Quarter and all the incredibly delicious dishes they ate--unique and tasty ingredients, a big wood-fired oven, and the rest of the really cool ambiance. As I started to salivate and become green-eyed, he casually tops off his story with, "Oh, and as we were getting up to leave, Brad and Angelina walked in. And you know, despite their entourage of body guards, they just looked like regular people. Really, they looked like anyone else in there." (Somehow trying to downplay it.) No Clay, I look like a regular person, lying on the couch with my feet elevated because my legs are throbbing a bit from being on them all day. Angelina and I, why, we are just two peas in a pod with our oh so regular appearances and regular lives as regular folk. Other than a few expletives, all I could think of while lying there looking at the hole in my sock was, sure, I could be her body double. Now poof! Turn into Brad, that regular guy, Clay.