Archive | September, 2011

Hollister Mom. Oxymoron?

30 Sep

Hollister. Adolescent retail haven. You can actually hear the store before you lay eyes on it, because the pop music blaring out of its faux-weathered cabana-like exterior is so loud you almost wish you were old enough to have a hearing aid you could turn down. That is Hollister’s first line of defense against a more mature crowd. If you do manage to penetrate the boundary, the secondary deterrent features lighting so dim I have trouble determining the colors of most of the clothes, let alone details like size. And then there’s the smell. It can only be described as the cloying smell of too much hibiscus mixed with the scent of Axe and adolescent desperation. (Although, I think Axe IS the official body spray of puberty – didn’t I read that in one of their ads?)

Suffice it to say, it is a store I would only enter if shopping for or with one of my daughters, as they do their part to stimulate the economy.


I do love me a good bargain.

Here would be a good place to tell you that my daily uniform consists of jeans and a t-shirt, over which I often throw a sweater or jacket because a) then I don’t look like such a slob and b) because I am always cold. In fact, I could dedicate an entire post on how I can sit poolside while my friends sunbathe, with a towel over my lap to keep out the chill. But I won’t. Just know that I appreciate a nice t-shirt.

And we’re back.

I won’t bore you with the gory details, but let’s just say I found some great t-shirts in Hollister, that were marked down and then 50% off on top of that. So, in shopping math, free almost. So I bought them. For myself. Just plain t-shirts in colors like white, navy and grey.

The t-shirt under discussion.

I wore one the other day when I picked the big girl up from cross-country practice, that little red Hollister seagull over the left side of my chest flapping away. And as I stood there waiting, I had a moment. A genuine, honest-to-goodness, rock-my-world moment. 

Am I too old for this t-shirt?

There have most certainly been clothes I can no longer wear, trends I can’t embrace because I can’t pull them off or because they wouldn’t be flattering, or, more commonly lately, I already wore the look the first time around. For the first time ever, I wondered if I looked like I was trying too hard, like I was trying to be a cool mom but coming across as a dork mom. Not because I was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, instead, because of that stupid bird.

It was the first time I ever really felt my age. The first time I thought I shouldn’t do something that I can do because I am too old.

I have to be honest – there is something about that feeling that I do not like. A vague sense of something that feels uncomfortable. Have you ever had the feeling that the way you see yourself, the way you think of yourself could be out-of-sync with how the world perceives you?

It’s the feeling that I have begun to make the transition from “awesome mom” to someone who inspires exasperated sighs and eye rolls because “I just don’t understand.” Does a Hollister t-shirt try to deny that inevitable transition?

Maybe I’m giving that little seagull too much power. Or maybe I just shouldn’t wear that t-shirt with my skinny jeans.


I’ll take “Things in the Downspout” for $200, Alex.

28 Sep

This story does not start off delicately. Sorry.

I was on the toilet. There, I said it. Let’s move on – shall we?

Next to the toilet is a window, and through that window I could hear a scratching that was unmistakably rodent in origin. Of course, like the first victim in a horror movie, I had to know what was making that noise.

Here is what I found:

Nondescript fur that was clearly breathing very heavily due to the exertion of trying to climb the 5 or so feet back to the roof where he or she had fallen into the downspout. You can sort of see it in the uppermost hole to the left. How did the holes get there? That would be my dogs – trying to get to a previous rodent.

Let me be clear – I’m not entirely PETA friendly – I love me a burger. When there were mice in my cellar – sorry but, BUH-bye now. BUT. I can’t stand to see an animal suffer. (Yes, I know, the burgers and the cows, but that’s not in my downspout.)

And so:

You’ll notice in this next clip, that the more I interact with my Mom, the more pronounced my Brooklyn accent becomes. I never realized that until I heard it in this video.

Saving lives and trashing homes. All in a day’s work when you’re the Mom.

Do you have any wildlife tales to share?

P.S. This post marks my very first video upload. I’m a little excited.

I am, in fact, not dead.

28 Sep

I apologize for my lengthy blog “vacation”. It turns out, it’s not a great idea to start something as potentially time-consuming as a blog just as the summer winds down and your kids start school. Especially when one of those schools starts at 7:45. And the bus arrives at 7:09. Requiring you to get up at 6 am. Every. Morning.

That will really mess with a mom’s schedule.

Thanks to everyone who said they missed my blogging – I missed you, too. Maybe because my kids rarely tell me I’m witty and clever because of the awesome note I left in their lunch box. Maybe.

My current plan (read: maybe I’m aiming too high, but dammit I’m going to try) is to post 4 days a week. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays with our Sunday Sweetness post on, duh, Sunday. If something too cool/embarrassing/funny happens to not share immediately, I may post more.

So, thanks for sticking around. I’m really grateful.