peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

I was given a very generous gift. A scarf.

Except. I’m not really a scarf-wearer. I’m more of a t-shirt-and-jeans wearer.

Coordinating work clothes puts me in a tizzy. What with the blouse, the cardigan, the skirt, the tights, the shoes, the accessories. It’s overwhelming to me.

But. I am thankful to receive presents.

So.

I consulted my fashionista 10-year-old daughter and even checked out a fashion website–http://www.refinery29.com/how-to-tie-a-scarf/–that details exactly how to wear a scarf. Did you know there’s a way to wear a scarf called The Neck Brace? And, yeah, when I checked myself in the mirror, I looked about as uncomfortable as someone wearing an actual neck brace. Stiff and awkward.

I tried the looping and the twisting and the wrapping. I paired my new lime green scarf with my black outfit, and headed into work. I walked into the meeting looking something like this.

It seems like it was just two months ago when I bought my 10-year-old daughter new shoes. Three new pairs in fact.

Say…it WAS just two months ago. And now she has outgrown them. “Can’t you just wear your basketball shoes to school?”

Apparently not.

My “lady girl” as I call her–is sized as a lady in clothes and shoes but is still the age of a girl–she’s tricky to shop for. She’s not ready for low-plunging necklines and low-waisted jeans. And oh the boots in her size. Thigh-high. High-heeled.

Off to the lady boot store we went. Let me tell you, when you outgrow your boots and it’s the end of January, it’s slim pickings…for an age-appropriate boot. She found the perfect pair. For a hooker.

We finally found a pair we both agreed on. No-heel, black suede with fringe…in her size!

She’s only 10 but her feet happen to be ginormous. Big feet on a woman = big brains. This I know. After all, my girl takes after her Mama.

The invitation said “potluck” and “boating attire.” And “family welcome.”

A work party. At a home on a lake.

I should have read between the lines. WORK. Home on a LAKE. BOATING ATTIRE. In other words: FANCY. Not: Slip on some waterproof Keen sandals, bring the watermelon, and the dolphin-print beach towels under the arms of three over-excited children.

Potluck? That’s easy. I would make my broccoli-bacon-curried-almond salad. It’s yummy and a crowd pleaser. I chopped and mixed and tossed it into a Tupperware container. Done.

Attire? That’s easy. I wore my new purple Faded Glory peasant top. I bought it for $12 at Walmart–what a deal! It was bright and cheerful. Pair it with jeans. And my waterproof turquoise Keen sandals, of course. Perfect for a lake party.

Grab the kids’ swimsuits and beach towels. And we’re set.

My three kids in tow. Me with my Keens and cheap peasant blouse–which was feeling a little tight in all the wrong places–I was looking Lesbian-Frumpy Mom, all in one.

We show up. Ding dong. Were the watermelon wedges starting to slide off the tray? Were the kids a little over eager? Er, maybe the giant plastic bowl of broccoli salad didn’t look so pleasing after all.

You’d think we stepped into a Hollywood party. Everyone was in crisp white shirts and khaki linen pants. Ah, boating attire. That’s what that meant. Hors d’oeuvres and a yacht. Not hot dogs and cannonballs. My bad.

I was Faded Glory amidst the Ann Taylor crowd.

Pools of sweat began to puddle in my armpits. I made room for my homemade salad and watermelon wedges on the buffet table, amidst the hummus, fresh mozzarella with basil drizzled in olive oil, prosciutto, and charcuterie fare. I should have put my salad in my fancy Pier 1 bowl. Even the broccoli salad–though colorful and yummy–was not appropriately dressed. Dude! My salad didn’t seem to fit in either.

Then…splash! In jumped my kids into the lake, splashing the khaki linen crowd. “MOM! Did you see that cannonball?!” they yelled.

I grinned.

Yeah, we know how to make a splash, all right.

I’m linking up with some amazing writers and bloggers at Yeah Write. Check them out!

It’s that time of year. When you take some jeans and you transform them into shorts, with a pair of scissors. As if denim shorts are rare.

I did that. It’s easy!

A few cuts and I had capris.

Then board shorts.

Cut. Cut.

Hiking shorts.

Nah, I want shorter shorts. What the heck. Summer is nearly here.

Snip. First one leg. Then the other.

Oops. Uneven.

A few more snips. Ooops. Still uneven.

Let’s even them out. Voila.

Whoopsidaisy. I was left a pair of jundies.

Frump frump frumpety frump.

Wondering how you too can achieve the frump look? It’s really easy.

1. A t-shirt that you’ve had for ages. This one I’ve had for 19 years. I got it from the bar Carlos O’Brien’s in Puerta Vallarta on my honeymoon. Sentimental. Super soft from a gazillion washings. And who doesn’t like frogs wearing clothes?
2. Jammy pants. Any type will work. But print ones are best. These have penguins with headphones. How can you resist?
3. Polar fleece. Finish off the look with a polar fleece hoody. You know, the kind your teen says you look like a dork in? Yeah that one.

You’re set! See how easy that was? Now you’re ready to drop off your kids at school and run into all the glam mothers or go grocery shopping. You can thank me later.

Knock knock. Who’s there? Nice knockers.

Have you been bra shopping in awhile? No? Maybe you should.

Whether you wear t-shirts (my uniform.) or sweaters or blouses, a new, good-fitting bra makes a huge, ahem, or medium difference.

I went bra shopping today. They have bras to lift (OK, who doesn’t want lift??), support, enhance, minimize, smooth, push up…you name it.

What a difference! “Apollo 13, we have lift-off!”

Awhile back, I went to the Nordstrom lingerie department and got properly fitted for a bra. It was an embarrassing experience: the clerk tugged, poked, adjusted, squeezed. Nah, she didn’t squeeze. But she did tell me, “You have really nice breast tissue.”

Whoa! Excellent! Now THAT’S something you don’t hear every day. Especially after birthing and breast feeding three children. (TMI.)

So, here’s what I bought today. Hey babe, nice breast tissue.

An afternoon ice skating with my daughter reminded me of three important life lessons:

• Balance. Balance in ice skating is important. Balance in life is important. Enough said.
• Let go. In ice skating, you need to let go of the rails and just go for it. What’s the fun in holding onto the rail when you can speed across the ice?

Just check out my “Pesky Pippi cam” as I perform a triple salchow:

But the most important life lesson I learned ice skating is…

• Recycle ugly sweaters. Never leave the house in a hideous sweater, such as the one I wore.

Oops, I did it again.

I am not anti-manicures and pedicures. I am just cheap.

I’m always justifying them this way, “For $35-50, I could buy a pair of jeans.” And then I buy the $6 polish and think I’ll just do my nails myself. Then my bathroom drawer gets filled with a rainbow array of colors and my fingernails get lonely. But the toes. Whoa! They get lots of lovin’. They are now sporting neon green.The last time I got a mani-pedi was in April. It was pre-vacation so I wanted to be kinda fancy.

The Vietnamese wife-and-husband couple worked on me simultaneously. As if I were a project. I felt like Dorothy when she goes to the Land of Oz and everyone is sprucing her up…shining her ruby slippers, curling her hair. Team effort, ya know? I really don’t like people fussing over me like that. Especially when my feet are calloused from soccer. And my pinky toe toenails could never make it in the foot modeling world.

So if it’s not embarrassing enough having a man trim and soak and scrub and paint your toenails, the massage chair was the topper. Or should I say the bottomer.

There was this massage chair doing its 20-minute routine. At about minute 15, it felt like a fist was twisting across my butt and staying there. I didn’t know whether to bolt out of my seat and run to the bathroom or just sit there and take it in the…well you know.

If I spoke up to protest about the massage chair getting frisky, I worried there would be a lost-in-translation moment.

So I kept quiet. I left in the yellow, flimsy flip-flops. And never went back.

Maybe that’s why I don’t enjoy partaking in the mani pedi. Too much attention on me. And my butt.

Mother-daughter dates. They’re the best.

When mothers go shopping with nine-year-old daughters, sometimes ya just need to buy some tween stuff for yourselves. Why not?

After sifting through the Justin Bieber, Domo and Hello Kitty, here are a few of my new favorite things that we selected for ME during our shopping adventure at Claire’s.

My daughter is a great supporter, as in “Mom, you should totally buy that.”

• strawberry hair clips with diamonds
• Jack Skellington glow-in-the-dark ring (bought a matching one for my daughter. “Mom, we can totally match!”)
• sparkly panda wallet (turns out plastic, sparkly wallets don’t stretch with all of my “grown up” stuff stuffed inside and the snap doesn’t quite snap. Kinda like my pants after Thanksgiving. That is, if my jeans had snaps. They don’t, Silly. They have stretch in them. Duh.)

Oh well. The fun was in seeking out the goods and treasures…with my daughter.

And don’t you want to be “in” with your daughter? Even just a TWEENSY bit?

So I bought this beauty of a watch on eBay. Genuine diamonds. Geniune smiley face. Cheerful color. Quiet ticking. A perfect timepiece for Pippi.

And what a deal: I bought it for $15.

Then, after a week, it stopped working.

So, there ya go. I now own a bracelet. That perennially says 7:35.