What didn’t they have when YOU were little (or, older than dirt)

As far as Sophie is concerned, there have been four major time periods. And none of them end in "zoic." In her mind, the earth has gone through 4 major eras: dinosaur times, when Abraham Lincoln was president, when Grandma was little, and since she was born. That's it. I've tried to discuss this with her, but frankly, time is something we all pretty much take on faith. Sure, we've been TOLD that once humankind believed the world was flat and people actually PAID for their music, but for a 5 year old (five and four quarters, she tells anyone who asks her how old she is) the idea of a world that wasn't exactly the same as it is now is pretty suspect.

She has a lot of questions about this. We've had a lot of talks that start with her asking, "What didn't they have when grandma was little?" or "What didn't they have when you were little?" or, of course, "What didn't they have when Abraham Lincoln was president."

As far as what "they" didn't have when I was little, the list is huge. Sure, there are things like computers and cell phones, but I'm talking about the IMPORTANT things. The ones she is the most blown away by, however, include…

• White boards (Think about it....Did you have white boards or chalk boards in your classrooms as a kid?)
  
• Post-it notes (How did we live without the magic?)
  
• Chicken McNuggets (These came out when I was 5, I think. I still remember KFC getting their panties in a twist and all those commercials about leaving chicken to the chicken experts.)
  
• Seatbelts (I guess they were THERE, but mostly they were shoved behind the seat and covered in various car crust.)
• Water bottles
  

Of course, I've had to defend myself a little, and remind her of the things we DID have that you can't get/see now. Like…

• Jem (However, tons of episodes are on youtube, if you didn't know. Soph LOVES them. Bonus points if you can remember who Jem/Jerica's purple haired boyfriend was. Triple bonus points if you remember the name of the lead singer of the Misfits.)
  
• The Hamburglar and Grimace
  
• Shrinkydinks
  
• Keytars
  

Ok. That list isn't by any stretch exhaustive. But I'm running out of time here, and wanted to highlight the IMPORTANT things.

As far as what "they" didn't have when Grandma was little, she's most interested in the fact that there were no pants—for girls. Soph thinks this is a sweet, sweet idea. Who knows why? She loves dresses, but why does she want to wish them on everyone?

In regards to what Abraham Lincoln and his peers had to do without, I pretty much tell her--everything. No batteries. No plugs. No Walmart. No grocery store. This freaks her out, and she feels very bad for him. Often, she'll console herself by saying, out of the blue, "Well, I guess President Lincoln had lots of horses. That must have been nice."

So…Comment whore want to know…

What DIDN'T "they" have when you were little? What DID "they" have?

A quickie "Soph said..."

Last night as she was tucked in bed, about ready to fall asleep...

"Mommy--today was Sophie appreciation day, and no one appreciated me."

Cleavage Query (More with the clothes posts?)

Is it ever ok to show cleavage at work? If so, how much? Is a centimeter too much? Two centimeters?

Why do I ask? Let me back up a bit.

In my school district, teachers can only wear jeans on Friday. (Yes. It's related. Give me a minute.) BUT on the other hand, I feel like it's necessary to keep things pretty casual with my students. They (alternative high/at risk kids) already have a very negative predisposition to all things schoolish and teacherly, and I need to be able to move around, sit on a table, and help them feel comfortable by being comfortable.

Enter my 4 pairs of brown pants.

Well, they're not all the same shade of brown. One is dark brown. One is light brown. One is a kind of a fuzzy tan. The other is a kind of grayish brown. Brown pants with a button up shirt Monday through Thursday, and jeans (hallelujah) with the school t-shirt on Friday. (You know you're a teacher if wearing jeans and a t-shirt on Friday is something you look forward to all week. You also know you're a teacher if in your nightmares, your GIVING the test in the nude rather than taking it.) Yesterday I shook things up a bit. I wore Capri pants (Jump back! They were tan though.) and a pink peasant-ish shirt. Also, the shirt showed about, oh, 1.25 cm of cleavage.

Let me tell you, I haven't had so many comments on an outfit since the time I left my fly down all through second period. A couple of teachers, and several students commented on how nice I looked. And honestly, it felt really good to hear it.

Then, I got this from Kendra. "Wow! Mrs. Jay you look so different! You actually look…good!"

Hmmm.

Apparently I've been looking a bit on the "haggard-lady-who-has-totally-given-up-on-herself-and- would-rather-you-just-didn't-look" side.

Now I realize that it wasn't the cleavage only that was garnering the compliments. Just the fact that I wore something different from the brown pants/button down shirt regiment was sure to catch some attention.

This morning, I decided to try on a couple of shirts that I hadn't worn since summer. They fit (mostly) and are very cute and springy, but because I got the boob gene, each one showed a bit of cleavage. Not porno cleavage. Not even PG13 cleavage, really. But cleavage nonetheless. Long story short—I didn't wear the shirts. Today, I'm back to the brown pants and button up.

(Yes, I realize there are noncleavage/nonbutton up shirts available in the world. But—there are fewer than you think. Also, a v-neck really goes a long way in creating the illusion of an hourglass rather than a, oh, let's say tomato.)

Where is this going? I don't really know. I do know that though I pretend that I don't care how I look most of the time, I really do. I do know that since losing a little weight, I kind of want to show it off. I do know that I am afraid of caring too much about how I look, or thinking that other people think I care too much about how I look.

Physical appearance is a tricky, tricky thing. How much should it matter? How much does it matter? Does it matter that it matters so much?

So…

Comment whore has 2 questions for you.

1) Cleavage? Is it ok at work? If so—how much?

2) What's your take on appearance? Why do you wear what you do? When does just caring about your appearance become vanity?

Back in the day

My allergies are getting WAY out of had. Today I had to call in the big guns--The Claritin D. I hate this stuff. It makes me feel all hot and itchy and creepy.

So--I'm pretty much just trying to keep my shit together and not loose my composure. To that end, I was lying on my bed with a pillow on my face (ok, maybe the composure is a little lost) just letting my racing thoughts fight it out amongst themselves. Here's who won.

Jumpsuits.

That's right. Somehow, they ended up on jumpsuits. Particularly the two super sweet jumpsuits I owned, loved, and wore between 1989 and 1992.

My first jumpsuit was pink and white striped. It had silver snaps down the front, and I wore it in the eighth grade. I accessorized it with big white zig-zaggy hoop earrings and a silver banana clip (which was ultra sweet with my crimped hair). And let me tell you, I looked hot. That is not sarcasm. It is the truth. If I recall correctly, a boy fell in love with me because of that jumpsuit (well, that and my impressive rack).

Ryan Paris. Both of our families were Navy, and had been coincidentally stationed together twice. When I was 4 and he was 6, we somehow ended up in the tub together. His mom filled it with bubbles, and told us not to stand up. He kept threatening to stand up, and told me that he would unless I took a bite of soap. I did.

Several years later, he and his family came to Carmel to visit on their way to their next station--Japan. I had a party to go to, and was decked out in my fine and foxy jumpsuit. He took one look, and was besotted. Of course, he didn't say anything, but sent me a very, very intense letter from Asia declaring his undying love for me and begging me to write back. Being a self-centered bitch of a 13 year old, I don't think I did.

My next jumpsuit was bright green and laced up the front. Kind of a cross between MC Hammer pants and a renaissance bustier. I wore it in '91, as a sophomore, and totally rocked it as well. During spring break, big sis and I hit downtown St. George (Souther Utah's Spring Break mecca) and rocked that scene. My mom would shit if she knew how many Jeeps we jumped in and out of that day, or the number of complete strangers we gave our numbers to.

Sigh.

Comment whore wants to know...

What was your most fabulous '80s/early '90s outfit? Details please.

The mommies were nestled all snug in their beds...

That's right. It's 7:00. p.m. And I'm in my pajamas, in bed.

Aren't lap-tops handy?

What can I say? It's the end of the school year and I'm absolutely beat. There are teacher quality portfolios to create, end of level tests to give, mentor logs to turn in, and the list goes on. Add to that the fact that I've totally changed my eating/exercising patterns, and just started my period, and I'm lucky to have made it to 7.

(Barfing update: Nothing to report. I did "eat past satisfaction" tonight, and frankly, a good purge sounds like just the ticket--but I'll be strong. Oh. E now calls it "#3," as in, "You haven't been going number three again, have you?")

What else? Soph is fine. Big. Currently in the tub, and from what I'm overhearing, some mermaids have crossed her one to many times, and she's about to exact some retribution. I can't believe she only has six weeks of kindergarten left. Kindergarten is still little. 1st grade is big. She's taking ballet, and digs it the most. Have I mentioned that she's been on a "pants strike?" Since, like, December? She will only wear dresses. Thank god for Land's End and Hanna Anderson. Every Sunday I hang her 5 favorite dresses up, clip her leggings to them, and she's good to go for the week.

Apparently that's it for now. I'm trying to blog at least once a week, so we'll see how that goes.

Oh. Add a new blogging friend to your lists. http://dmotherof2.blogspot.com/ is a pal of mine, and has some funny shit to say.


Comment whore wants to know...

When is your bed time?

I totally barfed today

Sorry for the gross title. I'm just trying to keep it real. I have to post this, or else it's a secret. And if it's a secret, then I'm dealing with it on my own. And that, apparently, I cannot do.

I may have mentioned, that I'm doing Weight Watchers. (Skip this paragraph if you know all about Weight Watchers already.) Just the on-line thing—not meetings. Also, I'm doing the "core plan" which is way less with the counting points and way more with the whole foods. (Whole grains/no bread, whole chicken/no nuggets, whole potatoes/no fries. You get the idea.) Things have been going ok, not great.

You see my LAST diet (you know, the phentermine, cigarettes, and no food diet) worked SO GREAT! I lost like 10 pounds a day! It was sweet. My pants were literally falling off of my ass. Of course, there was that whole "losing my fucking mind" side effect, but you have to compare that with the results. So far on WW, I've only lost 7 pounds. In like 4 weeks. Sheesh. What is this?

Anyway, I'm going out of town, and Soph and I have a lunch date on Wednesdays. SHE got to choose the restaurant today, and she chose Grandees. The ice cream parlor that also serves sandwiches and soup. And white bread. And butter. And cinnamon rolls. And pie. And brownies. And a thing called a panookie. I tried to be good. I ordered a sandwich on wheat bread (note "core" but not TOO many points) with no dressing or cheese. And Soph had the chicken dumpling soup, roll, and butter. So I ate half of my sandwich, and felt like shit for having the bread and lunchmeat. Then I ate a bite of her roll. Then I had another one with butter on it. Then I thought to myself, "Self, you know, you could eat anything you want to for lunch today, and then just go home after you drop off Sophie and puke it up. You could eat ice cream. And that bag of chips. And the rest of Sophie's soup." And I listened to myself.

Damn.

Will I ever get a handle on this? Is it possible for me to try and lose weight, even in a healthy way (I've been walking DAILY and eating SPROUTED MULTI GRAIN CEREAL) without sliding down the slippery slope?

Poop.

Comment whore wants to know…

How much do you love me? Really. I need warm fuzzies today.