uniforms & ruts

Last week I had an animated email exchange with Kathryn about building a work wardrobe. I realized in my response how fully I’ve come to rely on a uniform when dressing for work – really, when dressing, period. It’s one of those things that the women’s magazines (which I read copiously and faithfully, in all their mixed-message glory) talk about that I was startled to realize I had grown into. For better or for worse, I’m a creature of habit and that extends to how I clothe myself, what I eat, etc.
Not sure this is scintillating reading but it’s what I’m thinking about right now.
When I went running today I realized that was another place where I have a uniform. In the summer I wear one of a couple of pairs of black running shorts and an Old Navy tank top (only hot pink, pale blue, or gray). Always. I do not vary.
On days at home I wear Juicy sweat pants and flip flops and a wifebeater tank top (summer), long sleeve tee shirt and sneakers (spring or fall), or cashmere long-sleeved tee shirt and sneakers (winter). If I really feel like dressing up I will put jeans on on the bottom; the tops remain the same. I have a collection of girls tee shirts (XL) from Old Navy that I sometimes wear. If it’s really hot I have a couple of sundresses from the juniors section of Target that I’ll wear, often over a white wifebeater (which I buy in bulk from Old Navy).
For work I wear black pants (Theory Max C, always – I buy these pants over the phone now, and have the store email me photographs of the fabrics) with a cashmere sweater or a jacket. Or a dress (with tights or high boots in winter, with heels in summer). Basically that’s it.
Without realizing it I have converged on some absolute rules. Pants are either straight leg/boot cut and long enough to cover a heeled shoe or cropped slightly above the ankle and pegged, with flats. Not too tight. Mostly they are black with the notable exception of white jeans and my trusty Max C’s in navy, chocolate brown, and charcoal gray. Sweaters are crew neck and snug fitting, always solid colors. Dresses are solid colors, mostly black, with an exception for a patterned DVF wrap dress. Lately I think black is very chic in the summer.
I don’t personally wear a lot of blouses and I am lousy at layering though I admire both on others. I don’t gravitate towards skirts though I do like dresses. My jewelry is similarly very simplistic; I like how necklaces, bracelets, and earrings look on others but find they are fussy on me. J Crew and Theory make up about 90% of what I wear, and jeans are Paige, Joe’s, or Rock & Republic. In summary I like simple lines (straight leg pants, sheath dresses, crewneck sweaters), solid colors, and I get almost everything I own tailored.
For dress up I like knee length cocktail dresses, I like strapless, and I like strappy metallic sandals with a stiletto heel. Other than a couple of floral Tuleh dresses (great ebay finds) I mostly do solid colors there too. I don’t really do mini but think that looks great on people with long, lean legs. My favorite dress of the last 6 months is a navy blue Rebecca Taylor dress that has spaghetti straps and a very loose almost blousy fit.

I haven’t spent much blogtime on my interest in clothing, and even as I write this I’m thinking (a) how boring – both the topic and how you dress, lady! and (b) how superficial to be interested in clothing … but I am, I always have been, and there you go.

weekend

Yesterday morning I took Grace and Whit to Buttonwood Zoo in New Bedford. It was a crystalline blue-sky, 82 degree day: perfect. They ran around, looked at the animals, rode the little train, took pony rides (Grace took two because Whit, in a rare fit of anxiety, didn’t want to go), had chicken nuggets and french fries for lunch and huge Spiderman popsicles. Other than a couple of scream-the-rafters-down tantrums by Whit it was a lovely morning.

Went home for “naptime” which was really an exercise in hours of frustration and shouting. Needless to say Whit continued his delightful ways. I tell you 3.5 is absolutely not my favorite age.
Late afternoon was a beach trip. Will someone please tell me how to enjoy the beach with Grace and Whit? I don’t particularly want to spent an hour in the chilly water, so once I’ve done my token dip and played with the children for a few minutes I’m ready to be done. They, of course, want to play forever. Can’t really do this without an adult nearby. I wind up standing in the ankle-deep water shivering and shouting at them every time they venture too far out. Not really super fun. I know of many parents who enjoy hours at the beach with their kids. Please, please give me some tips. I need them.
Then it was time for dinner around the corner with Brent (dad), Andy (8), and Jake (6). I played lifeguard to four children in the pool (notable only because one of them – Whit, naturally – really cannot swim). I shucked corn and watched like a hawk as Andy rowed Whit around the pool in this fabulous inflatable raft. My nap-free children were running on fumes and gradually becoming more and more whiny & hair-triggery. Not enough sauvignon blanc in the world to make this fun for me.

After a dinner that I spent mostly policing my overtired and cranky children, Grace started melting down and I decided to take her home (sweet because I was really ready to go). We walked home (2 blocks) with her in the canvas bag slung over my shoulder. She thought this was hilarious and I did too until I realized how freaking heavy she has gotten. Anyway, she passed out immediately and half an hour later I put Whit to bed before falling asleep myself.
It’s raining today and I’m not sure what we will do. There is violent agreement around here that Marion is more fun when Nana and Poppy are here, that’s for sure!

A lovely afternoon in Marion. Grace, Whit and I arrived around 1:45 and set up shop. I read my Google Reader for an hour while they ran around naked in a sprinkler in the back yard. Then we headed to Annie’s (Parlow Mill Farm, a local farm where my mother gets vegetables weekly) to pick up Nana’s vegetables and flowers. The photograph is taken outside the barn where we picked up our stuff, Grace holding the flowers and eating the divine fresh raspberries. It’s when experiences like this are cause for delight that I am proudest of my children. They wanted to wander around the barn, look at the homemade swing (oh, evil mother wouldn’t let them go on it as they were already buckled into the car), and taste the raspberries and homemade bread.
We swung by a brand-new Target for new Legos and then came home for more puttering. Grace and I assembled both Whit’s Star Wars Lego and hers of a monkey, and then had dinner on the porch before tubs & Scooby Doo. It is a beautiful evening and the ceiling fan is making me very happy right now. Early to bed and then off to the Roger Williams Zoo tomorrow to see Schuyler, Ankie, and Kara and everyone’s children!

This bureau was mine growing up at 33 Lexington Avenue. It was a yard sale purchase, never really worked well (the drawers would stick, and the bottoms fell out of several of them). I painted it yellow when I was pregnant with Grace, put it in the nursery, and this morning I took it downstairs to the street (my version of freecycle is to put things on the sidewalk and hope some soul will take them and give them a home). Making room for the big boy bed. Another goodbye.

Another farewell


As I have painstakingly documented on this blog, I have trouble with transitions. With the passage of time (with a birthday coming up you can expect this theme to start crescendoing). Whit’s bunkbeds are arriving on Tuesday next week. That means his days in a crib are numbered. Yes, I know: he’s 3.5 and still in a crib. He’s basically veal. It’s time. I know. I get it. I am still very sad about it. The little man loves his crib, actually, but he loves his new robot sheets for his Big Boy Bed a whole lot more. I keep going in there at night and snapping pictures of him sleeping, and today I got into his crib with him (something I’ve done a lot, with both kids). I am undeniably a better and more engaged parent to an older child, but there is still something very emotional and bittersweet about shedding one of the last vestiges of Whit’s babyhood.