A Coupla Things

So I was down at Southcenter this week, doing a little maternity clothes shopping at Old Navy and Target. May I just say that Target's Liz Lange maternity clothes ROCK - they are so cute and stylish and don't make me feel like a bargain basement pregnant lady. Old Navy was a little bit frumped out and rag-tag, but I should mention that it looked like they were about to set out a bunch of new merchandise (staff were very busy unpacking boxes) on the day I was there, so we'll see.

I have an issue with most maternity jeans. I do not understand how so many of them can be this "demi-panel" and get away with it. Can women actually wear this without their pants falling down every time they bend over or sit? I cannot. Call me Grandma, but I just love the "full panel," over-the-belly stuff. It gives the pants something to hold onto when my waist goes away. The other advantage is that when you wear the over-the-belly panels, you don't have nasty elastic lines showing under your clothes at your mid-belly (or, your "demi-belly"). I'm all about smooth silhouettes. If I'm going to have a big, beautiful belly, I want people to look at that and think about what a gorgeous pregnant woman I am. I do not want them to wonder what tricks are going on under my fabulous maternity tunic. The whole demi-panel thing sucks because all of the stylish choices in maternity jeans are made with this kind of panel. It's like the industry thinks that if you're going for the full panel, you've completely given up on style. Not so! Au contraire!

I ended up buying a pair of full-panel jeans online at oldnavymaternity.com. They're okay - your basic boot-cut antique wash. Ho-hum. I was hoping for a dark wash, straight leg style, so I could look a little less suburban. But when you're only shelling out $24.95 or so for jeans (and also when you're shopping at Southcenter shopping center in Tukwila), you're kind of in the suburban pickings zone, I realize. Liz Lange didn't even offer any full panel jeans styles, so I got what I could get.

All of this is to get to the following point: They are opening a Nordstrom Rack at Southcenter tomorrow!!!! Hooray!! I was driving by all of that new construction that's going in on my way to Old Navy, and I almost had an accident when I saw the Nordstrom Rack sign, shining like a beacon in the distance. I drove around and around, trying to get through the construction fences to catch a glimpse of the new mecca, but when I finally got in and parked in the crispy new parking lot, the store was, alas, still not open. I hauled my daughter up to the front window and peered inside, trying to see if they had a children's department, if they had women's dresses, anything. But it was pretty hard to see past the stacks of boxes and racks of hangers. Now back in the day I would have been there, in my car, at 6:30am with a cup of coffee and a piece of blueberry coffee cake, listening to the radio, and waiting with all the other die-hards for the place to open up tomorrow morning at 7:45am. I would probably have even skipped work for such an event (I was definitely known to do such things - especially when the Rack had their annual small designer shoe event, for sizes 5-6 only. Although I never have been a match for those tiny-footed, tough-as-nails Asian fashion mavens). This time I'll bide my time, however. It's just not worth it anymore. I don't want to say that having my daughter along takes most of the joy out of shopping for me, but I'll say it anyway. It sucks. She starts howling and lashing out the minute she catches a whiff of the leather and the fluorescent lights, and won't stop until we're back on the highway toward home. No fun. Now I shop like a madwoman, whipping through racks and picking out things that look vaguely attractive, throwing them in my cart. And forget about trying anything on, though I was lucky enough to have this opportunity for about six minutes the other day at Target, thanks to the popcorn they so ingeniously sell at the front. I swear to God, I would pay $10 for a little bag of that popcorn, just to get the peace that comes from slipping a few items over my head and taking a more-than cursory look at my appearance in the mirror once in a while.

So that's a major event in fashion for those of us who live on the South-West side. The other thing I wanted to note is that there is a new maternity shop on California Ave., south side of the Junction, close to that C&P Coffee place. It's called On The Way Maternity, and I checked it out the other day, too. They don't seem to have a website yet, but their address is 5446 California Ave SW, Seattle 98136, phone (206)938-2229. They have some nice things - they carry Olian and some other bigger higher-end maternity brands, but they also have a lot of brands I've never heard of and some really cute ideas. Most of their stuff looked to be between about $40-100, so more expensive than I would pay for most maternity things, but definitely lower prices than A Pea in the Pod (racket!) or Village Maternity. I appreciated that they carry a number of maternity swimsuits, even though it's not swimsuit season, so you know you always have a place to go if you're going on vacation or need something for swim lessons.

That's all for now. Happy shopping, pregnant ladies!

Blech

Okay, maybe this early pregnancy not-feeling-so-hot thing was not just a passing thing, and I am not actually a pregnancy goddess, immune to bouts of nausea and gas and general grossness. I feel yucky again today. All I want to do is sit around and drink Sprite with ice. My sister is visiting and we went to Kokoras Grill for dinner (so good!) and all I could do was pick at my salad and try not to look at the ceiling fans for fear of getting dizzy and passing out.

It could have been the Nordstrom sale that did me in, too. I am a bit ashamed to say that I really hardly ever go downtown, so when I venture off of my peninsula for an event so massive as the Anniversary Sale at the flagship store, it is almost too much. Almost. Of course it was an absolute zoo. The women's shoe department looked like a war zone, people were running here and there and up and down the escalators with random clothing and accessory items. I took a number in the kids' shoes department, and waited fifteen minutes for the saleslady to even tell me that they didn't have my daughter's size in the shoe I wanted to get for her. But you know what? I loved every minute of it. I stood there in that great mob and my heart was beating hard and I grabbed at a green Juicy Couture track suit just because everyone else was and held it up to myself for a moment, and my daughter was at the sitter's so I could just look and look and hold pieces of clothing together and see if they made sense, and just enjoy shopping with all of the other frenzied shoppers.

I didn't buy shoes for myself somehow because I am still having this shoe dilemma where I can't seem to find shoes that are actually comfortable that make me look cute and not momsie or like some lady with a walking stick out on her Elder Hostel trek through Turkey. I need help! Flats seem ridiculous to me because I am short, and because all of my jeans are hemmed to be worn with a shoe with a heel. I know that the real fashion mavens have their jeans hemmed to different lengths to go with their various shoe heights, but I simply cannot justify this as a stay-at-home mom. I don't really wear high, high heels anymore, at least not on a daily basis. I think the answer is going to lie in some kind of wedge-heeled shoe, but one that is so comfortable I can wear it all day and not have to think about it. I continue to search.

I didn't actually buy a thing for myself today, unless you'd count the little white kimono outfit I picked up in the children's department today, size 6 months, with a white velvet bow. I'm not so sure this time that I will have a girl, but I wanted to honor the little one growing inside of me with a special gift. If I have a boy I'll take it back and find something else, of course. I think for me it is a token to hold onto through this pregnancy, and a way to remember that this child is its own miracle, deserving of its own recognition and anticipation.

Thinking about shorts

The weather in Seattle has been hot, and apparently it's only going to get hotter this week. Which brings on a multitude of emotions for me. It's swell that the heat has finally come to our fair, green city. I get so sick of freezing in my house in May (my husband refuses to turn on the heat - he says, "Put on a sweater!" Aaagh! Is this something - some kind of fear-of-heater-usage chip - programmed into all men? My father is the same way), so my body is glad it's warm. I love going to the wading pool with my daughter, and splashing around with her and watching the absolute delight take over her entire being to be in the water playing with the other kids. I even love showing a little shoulder, and a little tanned, freckled decolletage if the feeling is right. But I am not so fond of the notion that we must be outside all the time in the nice weather, and I have a love-hate relationship with that American summertime clothing obsession . . . shorts.

I am an indoor cat, for the most part. I'll gladly attend a picnic or two during the summer months, though I do get a bit aggravated about hosting one myself (what is this need for packing up food in containers, on ice, carting it all to a park or other windy, hot, insect-filled locale, and eating off of precarious, soggy paper plates, all just to pack it all up again and unpack it at home?!). I'll have you for dinner in my dining room anytime you like. You can eat the food off of my dishes at my table, and I'll clear the table for you and wash the dishes with my soap and water that I have here at the house. That sounds very pleasant to me, and like excitement enough for one evening - even a summer evening. I admit that I would rather read a book or do a Sudoku or crossword puzzle or drink a Maker's Mark in my pajamas in the house than bring it all outside. If I had a beach house in Hawaii or the Turks & Caicos, sure - I'd be out on the beach every day and living in a bikini and probably even set my dinner table on the outside patio and invest in one of those giant bug-zapping machines. But living in Seattle, I get used to (and very comfortable with) staying indoors and building my indoor nest.

I'll get to the shorts thing. I lived in Europe for a year or so while in college, and for another couple of months some years later. I lived in Spain. And if there's one thing that identifies an American tourist quicker than some idiot shouting at a waiter that they want butter for their bread, it's shorts. Now, I am a snob in my own right but I'm not some kind of girl who's spent a few months in Europe and now I have a silly Madonna/Gwynneth Paltrow accent and I must have a cappucino every day for breakfast. No. I have worn shorts before and I am wearing them right now, for heaven's sake. I just think that the Europeans must be onto something for having universally and repeatedly rejected this clothing item. I heard the What Not to Wear ladies on Oprah one day confirming this out loud. They said, essentially, "Don't wear shorts, ladies," to many boos and gasps from the Oprah audience. They're right. Shorts look terrible. You all look terrible in your shorts, especially you ladies in the Oprah audience. I look terrible right now in my shorts. I bought short shorts because I have short legs and thought that the short shorts would make them look longer. What they do is highlight my gigantic, once-athletic, now wobbly thighs and bunch up in the area just under my na-na because that's where my thighs rub together (an area I call the "chub-rub" zone), so they end up looking like an adult diaper. Terrible. I've tried mid-thigh shorts and "walking" (knee-length) shorts, and none of them are right. And yet summer after summer, you'll find me at the Old Navy register, shelling out my $19.99 for the dream of looking perfect and summery/sporty in shorts. The problem with shorts is most definitely some kind of problem of physics. There is not enough weight to shorts, or not enough fabric, or not enough of either, so that your chubby parts of your legs grab onto the fabric and pull it up. This happens between your legs (as with my aforementioned adult diaper phenomena), or at the intersection of your abdomen and thighs, creating a huge exaggerated crotch look, or (perhaps worst of all) between your butt cheeks, so that it looks like your bottom is "eating" the shorts. Usually, it's a combination of all three effects.

I don't know why this is a love/hate problem for me. I pretty much just hate shorts. But every year as I said, I seem to get sucked into the excitement, and then I am very, very sorry. This is a difficult fashion dilemma. European women somehow manage to live without shorts - they wear skirts and long pants and dresses and always look cool and comfortable. I wear skirts sometimes, but that's not really the answer for a stay-at-home mom. I like to get down on the floor and spread my legs if I want and roll around with my daughter. And jeans are too hot for this time of year. Oh - P.S. I think capri pants suck, too - they have all the same problems as shorts and cut me mid-calf, which is suicide for the short-legged woman (though of course I own a pair of these as well - aargh!). Then there are pants that come in lovely "summer-weight" fabrics like linen. Linen is a really great fabric to wear if you are a mannequin in a temperature-controlled department store. Or a European woman. But for those of us who sit in the car or go to the bathroom or have lunch, linen is a big no-no. So for now, I am stuck.

Can I just say that the other big fashion problem I have this time of year is footwear. I refuse to go in for all the Crocs and Keen sandals. Those things are just silly. Yes, Seattle, I've said it. This is why I must remain anonymous. Just as I'll say that Birkenstocks are silly and have no flattering qualities. Really. However, I am at this point in my life where I really do need to wear something somewhat comfortable, as most of the time I am chasing a toddler around and can't be tiptoeing through the sawdust at the playground on three-inch heels. I wear these black Dansko sandals that I got a few years ago when we went to Italy for our honeymoon. They have a chunky, thick sole which gives me some height and have a lot of straps to them so I can imagine that they look a little bit sexy. They are passable, and I wear them every . . . single . . . day. They do scream "comfort sandal," though, so I'm currently looking for a new best summer shoe friend. I love the Donald J. Pliners, but I don't have $180 to spend right now on some sandals and no one seems to want to put a new pair on ebay for $30, so I'll continue to pine. And wear my short shorts and flip-flops inside my cozy house, contemplating how those damned European women do it.

Intro

So here I am - daughter napping, morning sun shining down on me and a sleeping cat through my kitchen window - trying to think of what to write for my first post of my first blog. I'm trying not to get caught up in the potential momentousness of the occasion, trying not to imagine what people will THINK of me when they read the things I have to say. I'm trying to be cool and casual, like I'm completely used to the idea of posting my ideas about the world out into the world, for the world to see.

My husband - God bless 'im - told me that he wants to see me have an outlet for my writing, that I am a good writer and I have a voice, and that's why I should have a blog. Oops - I probably shouldn't have told you that. I should let you judge for yourself, right? Maybe blogging won't be the best thing for me, since my ability to determine what and what not to share has been a little bit skewed by having a child. There is a person in my life now who follows me into the bathroom for each use and watches my every move with great curiousity and concern (is it pee-pee or poo-poo that Mama's making?). My husband always tells me that I share too much with strangers. He says why don't you just tell them where you live and when you'll be out of town. I suppose I always want to let people into my life so that they'll feel more at ease with me somehow. So they'll identify more.

Why Mama's Purse? Well, I'm not really sure. I do want to clarify that I do NOT own the HERMES Birkin bag - not even a fake - so don't go thinking that I'm a great big bee-yotch right off the bat. I just happen to think that they're gorgeous bags. I think that if I could own any bag I wanted right now, it would be some sort of creamy-white Salvatore Ferragamo boxy number. Yum. You know, I haven't checked the Neiman Marcus website lately to put together my fantasy purse collection. I should do that, and get back to you. But Ferragamo is always one of my faves. I own one pair of the shoes - they're satin and I picked them up at a vintage shop years ago. They kill my feet and I can't wear them for more than about five minutes, but I hold onto them because they are so beautiful and just a classic shape. They're what a shoe should look like.

I am a Taurus. I don't go in for all the chains and animal prints and giant logos (usually). I prefer high-quality, sumptuous materials and design that does not go out of style. I wear a lot of black. I do not care for shorts or sporty sandals. Blech. I am what some people would call unadventurous when it comes to fashion. I prefer the term "well-advised."

My baby girl is fascinated with purses, and with my purse in particular. It is a simple black leather Coach, bucket style (about the fanciest thing I carry around these days), and she loves to carry it around, heaved over her shoulder, or dragged about in the crook of her little elbow. She has figured out how to unzip the zipper and pull out pens. "Pen!" she triumphantly yells each time she finds one of the Sanford Uni-Ball micros (oh yes, I am VERY particular about my pens, too). She is currently learning to put words together, and whenever she spies the purse, she gives me a big smile and says "Mama . . . PUHS!" For some reason, this almost always brings tears to my eyes. I think it's because she has identified something in particular that means "Mama" to her. It brings me back to that absolutely heavenly feeling when my mom would pick me up from daycare after work and gather me up in her arms and she would smell like Chloe perfume and Trident spearmint gum and brown leather (from her own old Coach purse) and sunshine. And I remember my heart just singing because I thought my mom was the most beautiful woman in the whole world. That's why.

I am really like most young women you know. I am fortunate enough to own a few luxury clothing and accessory items, and the rest of my wardrobe is generally from Old Navy, Costco, and the Banana Republic outlet stores. But I love to fantasize - to pick and choose what I'd buy in a fantasy life, if I was making the actual 140K annually or whatever they say that stay-at-home-moms are actually worth. I love to keep a running list of the order in which I'd buy the things, and change that order around constantly. And most of all, I love to use my creativity and think about how to get the most from what I do have. That's what I want to talk about. I also want to talk about people - people I love and people I hate (and try not to give anyone away), and why. I want to talk about raising my daughter, and (sorry, folks) to brag about her frequently. I just want to reflect here on this life so that I can remember how lucky I am to do so. Mama's Purse is fashion, it's female, it's love, and it's a few handy items you can't get through the day without. Cheers!