Someone should probably nominate me for a date with Clinton & Stacy.

27 Dec posted by

You know those folks that have an incredibly innate, natural, check-out-how-cool-&-creative-I-am style about them?

I am so NOT one of those people.  On the other hand, if I have any redeeming quality, it is probably my lack of denial over my lack of style ability.  It took me until I was well out of college to discover designer jeans & as you’ve probably noticed in many pictures (including those below), I still rock the looped ponytail circa 7th grade with wild abandon (at least I don’t wear a hair ribbon anymore,  mmkay?).  I do feel, however, that I have a decent excuse for my poor excuse for a wardrobe – from 8th grade until senior year, I was stuffed into a polyester cheerleading uniform twice per week (oh yes, we wore our uniforms in class on game days).  Then in college, I wore sorority T-shirts & jeans.  With pearls, but still, no real need for style.  So I have never really had to develop my own sense of style.

& it shows.  It is not intentional — I WISH I was one of those people that always looks put together, or that is always one step ahead (hell, I’d give my right arm to just be right in step).  Sometimes I want to look totally comfortable & natural, rocking my Chacos with a pair of jeans that are lovingly broken in.  College T-shirts & chapstick.  Other times, I want to channel Audrey Hepburn in my pearls, perfectly pressed blouses, dresses, & heels.  & then I want to squeeze into a slim pencil skirt, gaping button-down, & trendy jewelry.  But at the end of the day, it barely matters because my job requires me to dress conservatively & to be successful, I must portray myself older than my mere 26 years.   Which is a hard task, considering I can still easily pass for a young college student but I refuse to feel frumpy & shop at Chicos.

Add to that confusing equation the fact that NONE OF MY CLOTHES FIT.  (thank you, Harrison!)  So even my eclectic wardrobe is worthless at this point.  & the sad thing is, I return to work in less than two weeks & last time I checked, I couldn’t wear yoga pants to the office.  DISLIKE.

Enter in Christmas, & these lovely work outfits.  & my readers, who shall lovingly offer critique & advice as I give you a wee fashion show.  I NEED STYLE, PEOPLE.  & if I have one goal in 2010, it’s to not “let myself go” now that I’m a mother.  In my dreams, I step out of the car at daycare to drop off Harrison & the other moms think to themselves, “How does she do it?  How does she look so chic & put-together with an infant?  I want to be Blair!”  (Yes, that’s right.  I’m narcissistic enough to admit that it would be nice to have another mother side-eye me in mild envy.  Then again, I never claimed to be perfect – I just daydream of creating the illusion.)

blog Someone should probably nominate me for a date with Clinton & Stacy.

I like to think that Tuck is admiring the cute pleats on the back of the skirt.  The skirt’s a little long for my taste, but I have to remember that a) I have stretch marks on my knees that the public should not be privy to & b) my clients don’t want to see my tugging down my skirt length when I sit, lest I look like a two-bit whore.  I do, however, adore the cardigan & blouse.  The sweater to the right is super-soft cashmere & wool…absolutely delicious to wear in winter.  But I feel it’s missing something.  Thoughts?

Can I take a side-note to take a personal moment of “EWWW” at the width of my hips & thighs?  ::sigh:: It’s also hard not to get wrapped up in the number on the tag.  I know.  IT’S JUST A NUMBER.  I’ll never forget the time my aunt sat me down in a dressing room & gave me some of the best advice for life (past the notion that you choose to stay married every day, but that’s another post for another time) – “It’s just a number, Blair.  It says nothing of who you are, or the kind of person you will be.  It doesn’t determine your strength or success, or your worth in the world.  It is just a number to help you find what will make you look amazing.”  Rinse & repeat through my thought processes to keep myself sane & optimistic.

blog11 Someone should probably nominate me for a date with Clinton & Stacy.

This is where I really need your help.  I am pretty sure that the picture on the right (the purple tunic) is chic right now.  At least, that’s what People.com tells me when I peruse their celebrity photos.  But to be honest, I’m not sure that I am “chic” enough to pull it off.  You should know that patterned tights & big earrings are a far stretch out of my comfort zone.  Am I doing it correctly?  Should I wear a necklace instead of big earrings?  Big earrings and a necklace?  & when it comes to the orange sweater, I am lost.  Nate thought it looked really cute & sporty with jeans & the shirt underneath, but I need something that will work for the office with it.  & I’m considering nixing the long-sleeved shirt underneath, although it would be chilly on 40-degree days.  My mother purchased a wool skirt to wear with it, but the top is far too long for a skirt without making me look stumpy (which is quite a feat, considering my nickname in middle school was the Jolly Green Giant.  which always made me cry into my binder behind my locker door.  I was totally that nerd that got picked on constantly until 9th grade).

I digress.

So to those of you that have style, a thumb on the current trends, etc, please feel free to leave your advice.  Where do you shop?  Do you find it hard to balance youth & professionalism?  Are your work clothes kid-friendly?  What do you budget for clothing?   Do you have weekend clothes & work clothes?  What does your work wardrobe look like?  What type of accessories are you into & where do you find them?  Trust me, I’d appreciate anything at this point.

& anonymous?  considering this kind of post totally double-clicks the mouse in your undies, please know that the whole “you’re fat & ugly & frumpy” bit is stale.

HeirtoBlair500x150 v41 Someone should probably nominate me for a date with Clinton & Stacy.

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Filed Under: Adult Club, Life in General, Things that aren't perfect despite my best efforts

I was in Battle of the Books in 6th grade, but there is no battle like Blair vs. Pooh Bear baby books.

26 Dec posted by

ahhh, the “baby book.”   Is there any psychosis in third tri (other than a Labor Watch) quite like discovering the perfect baby book?  I think not.  It was sometime in July that the thought came upon me over burritos lunch at my desk — OH MY GOD, I DON’T HAVE A BABY BOOK!!

In my creative daydreams where I’m a wicked combination of Rachael Ray & Martha Stewart (minus the hard time), I lovingly sit down every evening, putting together the most beautiful scrapbook, full of keepsakes & photos of professional quality.  Then that dream comes to a screeching halt as I remember the half-finished Senior Year scrapbook that is stuffed in a rubber bin in my attic & the quilt of sorority tshirts I never got around to sewing (as a confession, I cannot even sew.  so first step to that process would be, learn to sew.  then make tshirt quilt.  I failed at both).  PRE-MADE, Blair.  Just suck it up & admit that your destiny shall always, always be relying on someone else’s creative genius. So I began tearing through websites, Googling “baby book” at wild abandon, & making a beeline for Hallmark on my lunch break.  Only to come up completely disheartened.  Truly, it’s no offense to personal taste, but I don’t do characters like Pooh or Superman.  Or anything boasting a baby monkey wearing a diaper while swinging from a smiling pear tree.  It’s just not my taste.  & even though the practical side of me says that my son in all of his grunting testosterone may never give two flying cahoots about his baby book, I know that a fuzzy panda on the front would ensure that he never takes a peek down memory lane.  Not to mention that those books never have enough space past how much the baby weighed, his name, & a few places to Elmer a picture down to the page.  There needs to be a major overhaul in the mass-produced baby book industry, in my opinion.

Then, thanks ever to a few e-friends, I was referred to ednamae on Etsy.  (OH MY GOD, if you don’t know Etsy, then RUN.  It’s as dangerous as a meth addiction, but you get to keep your teeth).  Her work is gorgeous.  It’s modern.  It’s personalized.  It doesn’t have any diapered jungle creatures or Pooh pigging out on the cover.  IT WAS JUST WHAT I WANTED.

img 28491 I was in Battle of the Books in 6th grade, but there is no battle like Blair vs. Pooh Bear baby books.
I picked out my cover, the inserts, & even added a few extras – “Preggers” to record the pregnancy, extra photo sleeves, & the extended memory pack for holidays & birthdays.  It’s a little pricey (I admittedly dropped a cool $90.00) but I kept telling myself, “THIS IS HIS BABY BOOK.”  This is what I’ll pull out 30 years from now on his birthday, remembering how far we’ve come.  It’s where I will record his first smile, how we celebrated his first year of life, & what I felt that first week we came home.  A few emails between the owner/designer allowed me to customize a few aspects — being Baptist, we don’t have a “First Communion,” so she graciously allowed me to change that page to read “Baby Dedication.”  & when my cover was backordered, she offered to ship the “insides” free so I could get started & then ship the cover when it came in.  I declined since there was no definite rush, & she kept me in the loop to ensure it would arrive before Harrison.

dec 1 2008 I was in Battle of the Books in 6th grade, but there is no battle like Blair vs. Pooh Bear baby books.

It’s perfect.  & for those of us that are creatively challenged (to put it nicely), it’s incredibly easy — I just fill in the information, slide in a few photos, & it looks completely classy.   & since it’s not bedecked with that silly diaper-wearing monkey, I have no shame in leaving it on our coffee table.  Who knows?  Maybe he’ll think it’s cool enough to skim over when he’s older.

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Filed Under: Baby Gear, Stuff I Love

A baby changes everything…

25 Dec posted by

My whole life is turned around
I was lost, but now I’m found
A baby changes everything…
~Faith Hill

Today, we celebrate the birth of our Savior while sharing the magic of our son’s first Christmas.   Always remembering that while Harrison changed our lives, Jesus changed the world.

Merry Christmas, from our family to yours.

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Filed Under: holidays

I was supposed to write this on Dec. 13th #bestof09

23 Dec posted by

So Gwen Bell is fabulous.  No, really.  She astounds me in the way that other bloggers & social networking divas who do this for a living (more on that later, hopefully in 2010) astound & amaze me.  I write because I love it.  I write because strangely, people enjoy reading my inane ramblings regarding my sex life, uterus, & kid.  But to get paid to write?  Heavenly.

I’m getting off topic.  Like I said, that is a huge elephant topic best kept for 2010.

Back to Gwen, mmkay?  She is “hosting” (for lack of a better word) what I like to call a “blogging catalyst” – things that make you thing, lists, a way to socialize, a way to share your life.  There are tons of those around, including Kelly’s Share Your Life & The Nester’s Christmas Tour of Homes.  I love these things.  & in my dreams & scribbled notes that are lying all over the house, McFatty Mondays will be similar as a way to share our lives, instigating blogging & social networking.

Oh, my God.  I have ADD today, no?  …maybe I should have said “no” to that third cup of coffee, but he was so persistent & you know how giving I am at the holidays.  It was like playing “just the tip,” but with a steaming mug.  We’ll call it “just a sip.”  ”Here, Blair,” said the third cup of coffee.  ”Just a sip.  I promise, it won’t hurt.  I just want you to try it.”

But like I said previously, I really don’t want to discuss how I lost my virginity on here.

BACK TO GWEN.   & her Best of ’09 series.  FOCUS.

I have loved perusing the Best of ’09 links throughout December & even had the itch to participate a few times, but never really took it on because I’m in that weird mode of being ridiculously sappy about my child as I reflect on the year, finding myself redundant even in a blog challenge.  Best project?  Harrison.  Best challenge?  Harrison.  Best new person I met?  Harrison.  Best packaging?  Harrison, in my uterus.   HARRISON, HARRISON, HARRISON.  My God, is that all I did this year?!?

yeah, pretty much.

Minus that time that Nate & I fixed our screened porch.  The only activity this year that required more profanity & exasperated glares at my spouse than the nursery.  I HAVE SOMETHING ELSE TO WRITE ABOUT.  HALLELUJAH.

Screened porches are pretty much a standard must-have beneath the Mason Dixon line.  It was a definite on our list when shopping for a home, along with a formal dining room & garage (next time, I want a linen closet & an actual laundry room).  Ours is fantastically high off the ground, which catches amazing breezes along with the ceiling fan, creating a very cool place to drink a beer even when it’s 1,185 degrees outside with 200% humidity.

desktop2 I was supposed to write this on Dec. 13th #bestof09

Well, in theory.  Considering we never really used it.

Back in 2007 when we bought our home, we had these fantastically cheap blue chairs that were oh-so-uncomfortable.  We owned/fostered another dog, named…well, Foster (that’s a long story for another time, with a sad beginning & happy ending).  Foster took out his frustrations on these poor chairs:

porchseating I was supposed to write this on Dec. 13th #bestof09& when they were finished, he moved onto the actual porch itself.  I WAS DISPLEASED.  The railings, the screens, the doors.  You name it, he chewed it.  How he managed to actually chew & destroy the screens on the other side of those rails still baffles me.  On top of dog destruction, the top half screens would fall the moment the wind blew, meaning Nate was tirelessly climbing up & re-stapling every time we had someone over & needed the house to look presentable (don’t you love a company-only honey-do list?).  But meant it all had to be replaced, repainted, & we needed new screens.  So I called a few places for estimates.  My favorite had to be the guy that showed up 45 minutes late, smacking on a cigarette & claiming it would cost $1200 for him to re-staple the screens, without a guarantee of his work.

ARE YOU INSANE OR DO YOU THINK I AM AN IDIOT?  A 12 year-old could hold a staple gun & only charge $10.

So I researched some alternative methods, selecting a “track” system.  It’s pretty basic – you screw down a base track, spline in the screen, & snap the cover on.  Sounds like kindergarten, no?  We skipped to Home Depot, bought the supplies, & began ripping down the old screens & covers.

Disclaimer: Nate repeatedly told me he DID NOT WANT TO DO THIS.  I literally had to drag him to the check-out at Home Depot, then cattle-prod him into loading the supplies in the car.  He tirelessly suggested that we pay someone & I was all, “OH MY GOD, MAN.  WE CAN SAVE $5 BY DOING IT OURSELVES.  GET ON THE LADDER & START SCREWING OR YOU’RE NEVER GETTING LAID AGAIN.”  I’m so compassionate, right?

Nate was right.  ::sigh::

Maybe it was because we are not math majors or handymen, so the measuring & cutting became overwhelming.  Maybe it was because we picked the hottest week in July to complete this project, meaning we were literally doing the project in our underwear (sorry, neighbors!).  Or because splining the screen looks so easy in the brochure, but in reality, it takes 1980′s-worthy Arnold Schwarzenneger muscles.  Maybe it was because I was in my third trimester, leaving Nate solo to climb a 20-foot ladder with a drill while he shouted, “Blair, I swear to God…” every time I attempted to scale a piece of furniture to help out.  Regardless of the culprit, I was on the phone with The Momma’s handyman that afternoon.

Our Best Change to the Place We Live in 2009

desktop3 I was supposed to write this on Dec. 13th #bestof09Handyman:  $350
Materials:  $400
Porch furniture & accessories:  $1,000
Really hammering home that you are not handy in any way, shape, or form:  PRICELESS.

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Filed Under: Life in General

Do those electric dog fences work on humans to set boundaries, too? (Guest blog for jennepper.com)

21 Dec posted by

(copied as the guest blog entry from Maybe If You Just Relax)

So.

This is awkward.  I don’t even know where to begin.  Normally, in my own world of internets best known as The Heir to Blair, I begin with a tale, or a picture, or even a long drawn out “Y’ALL WILL NOT BELIEVE THIS SHIT S-DASH-DASH-DASH.”   But since I’m a guest of Jen’s, I figure it best that I a) introduce myself & b) not drop profanity in the first paragraph.  oh, & use a coaster for my sweet tea.

& since it is flu season & I don’t shake hands for fear of smallporks, I shall introduce myself simply as “Blair.”  As previously stated, I normally run rampant in my own little world of cupcakes, baby puke, & discussions about my sex life, but a week ago, I opened an email from Jen.  ”Would you be interested in guest blogging?” it read.  ”DOES A FAT BABY FART?” I responded.  (the answer is yes. just ask my kid)  When I questioned her on topics, she gave me free reign.

BIG MISTAKE, JEN.

So I emailed her back.  Because I had this topic I was itching to tap out, but I figured I should ask her permission before regaling her readers with tales of my bleeding vagina.  Manners matter, people!  & with her permission & the most incredibly dull, drawn-out introduction, I begin my guest blog:

Y’ALL WILL NOT BELIEVE THIS SHIT.

Disclaimer:  I typically shy from writing about family members.  Or friends.  Or relationships.  & definitely work.  I am of the opinion that no good can come from blogging about those topics, but this is WAY TOO GOOD to be kept a secret.  & I have my husband’s permission.

Back in January 2009, I peed on a stick.  & this appeared:

peetest Do those electric dog fences work on humans to set boundaries, too? (Guest blog for jennepper.com)I’M PREGNANT!  A BABY IN MY UTE!  It’s awesome!  I won’t have a period for almost an entire year!!   I saw this as a blissful opportunity to make the world a better place.  To be the attention-whore I always wanted to be as people stared at my belly, showered me with gifts, & rained compliments upon my glowing, happily knocked-up self.  (by the way, mission totally accomplished)

My mother-in-law saw my pregnancy as an opportunity to boost Kotex’s market power. (mission also accomplished)

The first time she brought me a pack of pads back in March 2009, I was a wee bit dumbfounded, a little embarrassed, but silently accepted them.  Maybe she found them in the back of her closet & is going through “the change?”  Since I am not one to question the fruitfulness of another’s womb, I stuffed them in the back of our own bathroom shelf in case of emergencies.  Until her next visit, when she brought 5 packs of pads.  & the next, when she brought 3 more economy packs, plus 2 packs of panty liners.  ”These are for after you have the baby,” she finally warbled in explanation.  Listen, lady – there is no need to hold stock in Kotex.   MY VAG IS NOT GOING TO BLEED PROFUSELY FOR AN ENTIRE YEAR.  ”Oh, I know,” she chirped.  ”But like I told your stepfather-in-law, you’ll get your period again!”  OH MY GOD.  You’re discussing my monthly cycle with a man my husband doesn’t even share DNA with?!  Stab me in the eye with a dull spoon.  NOW.

So I contemplated saying something to her after we hit 500 pads, ran out of room in the guest bathroom, & I started piling maxi pads on Nate’s work bench in the garage.  It’s not that I didn’t appreciate the generosity.  Or gesture.  But honestly, there are certain boundaries that should not be crossed by mother-in-laws.

I happen to lump my bleeding vagina into that category, along with discussing how I lost my virginity & the cost of our mortgage payment.

But I just couldn’t.  I was weak!  I was intimidated!  Despite over-sharing my procreation methods on the interwebs, I was a prude!  & in all honesty, watching her stagger into my casa with bags of Kotex was sending me into fits of giggles with every visit.  I could not explain to this woman that with the exception of healing from the D&E after the miscarriage, I never used pads.  That the moment I discovered that first wee bit of womanhood at the tender age of 12, I demanded that The Momma teach me to use tampons.  I could not stare my mother-in-law in the face & tell her that what emerges from my vagina past Harrison was none of her business.  & so I stayed silent, watching with hilarity as the pad count tick up over 700…800…850…

(thankfully, Walmart pretty much accepts any return, other than children & dead pet hamsters.  I have spent many, many hours waiting in line for a pimple-decked 15-year-old sophomore to issue me a gift card in return for said feminine products.)

Last weekend, she sent the total over 1,000.  & when she leaned over my son in a conspiratorial manner & whispered, “These are for Mommy” while winking & patting the pack of Kotex, Nate stood up.  The insanity had. to. stop.  & doing what I could not do with quiet male dignity, explained that he has never, ever seen me purchase maxi pads.  While I, ever mature & helpful, muffled my laughter into my sweater sleeve.

That, my friends, is the definition of a good man.  One that can stand up for your vagina to his own mother.  I married a good man.

& to date, I have returned 1,028 maxi-pads to Walmart.

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Filed Under: I share DNA with these folks, Life in General
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