Random Wednesday Thoughts

I go to Jamaica in 10 days. Only things standing between me and Jamaica at this point? One major project at work that has to be completed, the bikini wax I have scheduled for Saturday which is absolutely essential for spending a week in a bikini, and packing.

And it would be great to lose like five pounds between now and then, but since I'm not, I'm still going to rock my bikinis and rock them proudly for two reasons: (a) I don't know anyone in Jamaica so who cares what they think of my slight mommy pooch, and (b) We are going to Beaches, which is a family resort, so who cares what a bunch of little kids and Elmo and Big Bird think of me in a bikini? I actually ordered a new bikini from Victoria's Secret recently and, upon trying it on, worried that the bottom might be a smidge small. I mean, it covered everything, which is key, but I still felt a LEETLE nekkid in it. (Nekkid=naked and up to no good LOL!) I asked my husband what he thought and he replied: "It's not too small. You look good." Love my husband!

When I daydream about our Jamaica trip, it's all sunshine and Bob Marley songs and relaxing under palm trees. Which is how our last trip to Jamaica, four child-free years ago, was. I imagine this time is going to be more of the chasing-after-my-toddler-while-trying-to-keep-my boobs-and-butt-covered variety, with a Sesame Street soundtrack and no time for palm trees, but that's OK. My husband and I considered going to Jamaica and leaving our daughter with my parents, the grandparentals. But we like taking her places with us and seeing her have new experiences in new countries and cultures. And she loves Elmo and the gang, so I think it's going to be fun for all of us. And if I really need to relax under a palm tree, I can put her in the little Sesame Street day camp for a few hours LOL.

So this past weekend, my mother-in-law [MIL] was in town visiting us from Toronto. (See? Not a smooth transition--this is going to be a very random post.) The good part of her visit was that it was only three days. Oh, and I did enjoy shopping for shoes and sunglasses with her for two hours. That was actually really fun. But three days is about my limit.

My MIL is a nice person, but she analyzes everything everyone is doing to the point that she doesn't really enjoy anything. We took her out to eat at a nice restaurant in a nearby small town Saturday and we were sitting on the patio overlooking the river, enjoying the breeze and the food, and she was analyzing everyone's meal to determine whose was the healthiest option (my mother, the Nana's, which kind of upset her because she thought when she ordered hers it would be the healthiest) and whose was the worst (my husband's--chopped steak smothered in queso-yum) and sharing facts about the little town we were in from the brochure on our table. On the way home that night, she commented on how excited my parents were to see my daughter and how much she could tell they enjoyed playing with her, and all I could think was, yes, that's because they are her GRANDPARENTS and that's how most grandparents are! (She's not...she loves my daughter, but she's mostly focused on herself and what she wants--I attribute this to the fact that she's been divorced and living alone for about 30 years.)

The most trying thing about my MIL though is that she considers herself an expert on everything. She once explained to me what an oil change WAS and why she got them done. (Um, hello...I've been driving for 20 years...I think I grasp what an oil change is LOL!) She crossed the room to get her reading glasses this weekend to analyze the nutritious facts on the Graduates toddler meals we occasionally (read: regularly) feed our daughter and then lectured us on preservatives (even though the meals don't have any!) and fiber intake and sodium. Gah.

On the same infamous drive home Saturday night, she informed me that my daughter's swim coach was a lesbian, a fact she determined by observing my daughter's class for 15 minutes that morning. OK, to be fair, first she ASKED me if she was a lesbian. I replied that I didn't know, but that she was a good teacher and was very sweet with my daughter and the other babies. THEN she informed me that she was. "She had that weird tattoo of a pinup girl on her arm--she's a lesbian," she informed me. Then, she proceeded to explain for 10 hellish minutes how some lesbians have short hair, but some don't and she works with a lot of gay people, so SHE KNOWS. Meanwhile, I sat there praying for her to shut up with all of her stupid comments about gay people!

For me, when I first met my daughter's swim coach, I was a little puzzled as to why she would want a tattoo of a pinup girl in a red 50s-style bikini tattooed on her arm, but that's because I'm not a tattoo person. I didn't consider whether it meant she was gay or not, because I just don't care. I went to a small liberal arts university. I have gay friends. I don't have issues with that. I just don't like tattoos. I thought about it for all of about three seconds before she opened her mouth to start class and was just a very sweet early-20s girl who is amazingly patient and has fun while teaching my daughter and the other babies in her class. And that's ALL I care about. So I was especially irritated because I hadn't realized my MIL had some sort of issues with the gays she knows so much about LOL, and because HELLO--she was supposed to be watching her granddaughter swim! Not analyzing everything as usual. Sigh.

Anyhoo, let's just say I'm glad she lives in Canada and I only see her once or twice a year. How much was I over her visit by the time we put her on the plane? Well, despite my recent post about margaritas, I am a very infrequent drinker, maybe having one drink every few weeks or sometimes months. After we dropped her at the airport on Sunday and went home and put our daughter down for a nap, I opened a bottle of wine, drank three-fourths of it, and took a big nap myself!

Jamaica can't come fast enough.

Marking Milestones with Jewelry

I love things that sparkle and shine, so it should come as no surprise that I love, love, love jewelry. (I am Glam-O-Mommy after all.) Over the years, I've marked many milestones in my life with jewelry.

For my 29th birthday, I was living the high life in Las Vegas for a weekend trip with two girlfriends and one of my friend's extended family. Her dad was considered a high roller, so it was all expenses paid for us at Mandalay Bay while we were there, which was amazing! I used my own piddly spending money to play quarter slots and won a big (for me, not for any high rollers LOL) pot, so to commemorate my 29th birthday and my awesome weekend, I took a taxi over to the Bellagio and used my winnings to buy myself a Tiffany heart bracelet with my initials engraved on it. I was so proud of it, because it was my first piece of Tiffany jewelry--we didn't even have a Tiffany's in San Antonio then. It seemed glamorous and iconic to have a little piece of that on my arm. Being 29 and single, I was fairly bitter at the time; in fact, my nickname for myself then did not include "Glam" in the title at all...it was Single Bitter Woman LOL. I regaled all of my friends and coworkers with stories of my Single Bitter Woman bad date and awful pickup line encounters (Single Bitter Woman would've been an AWESOME blog filled with hilarious, horrifying dating stuff!). I was pretty sure I was going to be single FOREVER at that point, so the bracelet was sort of a "I don't need a man...I can buy myself pretty things" statement for me too.

Ironically (and luckily for me), later that year, I met and started dating my now-husband, the Destroyer of Single Bitter Woman (hard to be bitter when you're happy and in love) and the Co-Creator of Glam-O-Mommy. :) For our first Valentine's Day together, when we'd been together about three months, he was trying to do things right, so he bought me some roses and candy from the grocery store, and a piece of jewelry...a $7 silver bracelet that he bought at Target. He kind of meant it as a joke, but I put that bracelet on and told him I was going to wear it every day until he replaced it with another piece of jewelry! And I did. I never took it off until...

Seven months later, when he proposed to me with a gorgeous engagement ring. We had looked at rings together, so he got exactly what I liked (a marquis diamond surrounded by princess-cut diamonds), and he proposed to me at the ice skating rink we frequented (he's Canadian and plays hockey, so he's a great skater and it's one thing we love to do together!) for two reasons: (1) because it's the first place he told me he loved me and (2) because he thought the ring would look extra sparkly out under the lights on the rink! Does he know me or what?

For my wedding, in addition to the beautiful wedding band my husband gave me to go with my engagement ring, I bought myself a diamond and pearl tiara to wear. At first, I did not plan to wear a tiara, because at 31, I thought I was too old of a bride to wear one, which I thought for months...until I finally tried one (just one, THE ONE) on and that was it! I was a tiara girl, to the surprise of NO ONE, since all my bridesmaids, my maid of honor, and my mother were like, really...YOU are not going to wear a tiara?! You know they sparkle right? And make you look like a princess? Are you sure?

My lovely parents also gave me a pearl and diamond necklace and earrings to wear at the wedding, since their originally planned gift went out in the trash a few years before. See, my Mother's engagement ring had a tiny chip of a diamond in it, and a few years after my Mom got the ring, she accidentally vacuumed it up while cleaning. This destroyed the band, but my Mom managed to find the tiny diamond and kept it for almost 30 YEARS, in a tiny plastic bag in various jewelry boxes. Her plan was to have the little diamond set into a necklace to give to me to wear at my wedding. About four years before I met my husband, my parents were cleaning things out of the house in preparation for a move, and my poor sweet Daddy accidentally threw the little plastic bag with the diamond away! He thought it was a stray piece of plastic and didn't even see the tiny diamond inside. Once they realized what he had done, Mom and Daddy searched the trash thoroughly, but never found the diamond. They were heartbroken about it, and so was I when they told me, because I would've cherished having that since it was the diamond my Daddy gave my Mom when they were 20 and 21 years old! (They've been married almost 42 years!) So they gave me a beautiful pearl and diamond necklace and earring set to wear on my special day instead and I cherish that as well. Someday, I hope my daughter will wear the tiara, necklace, and earrings on her own wedding day...I'm keeping all of that for her!

It's a little tough to make out the earrings and necklace in this picture,
but the tiara looks amazing, right?!

My husband, the Destroyer of Single Bitter Woman, also rocks!

Another thing I'm keeping for my daughter is a present I picked out for myself for my 35th birthday when I was pregnant with her. As I've explained previously, I fought a tough, completely unglamorous battle to get pregnant. The fact that I was pregnant and going to have a daughter was amazingly miraculous to me, so I when my 35th birthday rolled around, I had been thinking about jewelry to commemorate my impending motherhood. My parents decided to give me a little cash for my birthday that year, and since clothes and SHOES were not really that exciting an option for me at that point, I decided to add to the cash they gave me and splurge on an initial necklace from Tiffany's (which had made its way to San Antonio in the six years since I turned 29), because my daughter and I share the same first initial. My plan, from the moment I bought the necklace, is to wear it myself until my daughter turns 16, and then give it to her on that significant birthday. I hope she loves and treasures it and understands what it represents...my love for her and how she is the fulfillment of my heart's deepest desire.

My husband has given me some other pretty wonderful pieces of jewelry that I adore. And when I say 'given', what I mean is 'taken me to the store and let me pick out what I want', which is his favorite way of giving gifts and one that I'm generally down with, since he actually hates to shop and is not a huge fan of getting or giving gifts at all. So the fact that he gives me gifts this way tells me that he really does love me a lot! For our first Valentine's Day as a married couple, he gave me a pretty diamond drop necklace. For our first anniversary, he gave me a set of diamond stud earrings, because I had had surgery to repair both my earlobes since our wedding and needed real earrings to wear after they were re-pierced and while they were healing rather than costume jewelry. On my 34th birthday, I was deep in my hellhole of infertility despair at that point. I saw two things I liked when he took me to shop for a gift, a pink sapphire necklace and a pearl necklace, and told him either would be wonderful, I couldn't decide. He bought them both. I know...I am one lucky lady! He was really trying to make me feel better with that double gift, because it was literally the saddest, lowest point of my life at that time, and he was in those emotional trenches with me every day. He was my rock.

A month before my due date, my dear husband took me out for a nice dinner and to shop for a special gift since I was in the home stretch of my miracle pregnancy. He balked at the suggestion that this was a 'push present' as many people call it, he was like, "This is my idea! I just want to give you something nice because pregnancy is tough and you only have a month to go!" Together, we picked out another pair of diamond earrings, this time a little drop style vs. the studs I normally wear. And those lovely earrings were the only piece of jewelry on my person when my beautiful baby came into this world and took her first breaths and laid in my arms. And I still marvel at the fact that I am a Mommy every time I look at those earrings.

This year, for Mother's Day, I bought myself my own gift. My husband is not big on Mother's Day and my daughter made me a beautiful painting of a sunflower with her hand and thumb prints that I framed and have displayed in my office, but I had been wanting a Mommy necklace, a simple one that would look chic with jeans or a dressy outfit. I found the Tiny Tag Designs website and decided to order myself a simple two-tag necklace with my daughter's name and birthdate, which is of course, one of the best days of my life! Certainly, an amazing day to commemorate, but it's really a commemoration of the greatest gift of all: being her mother, a role I wasn't sure I was ever going to get to play, and a child's love, one I was not sure I would ever know. I'm so grateful to know it now. I got my necklace a few days before Mother's Day, and could not love it more! (Note: I bought the necklace myself and am not receiving anything from the designer or the website for this plug...I just seriously love my Tiny Tags necklace!)

My daughter's gift is super sweet and looks awesome framed in my office!
I smile every time I look at it.

While I love beautiful things, and aspire to glamour in all aspects of my life, ultimately what jewelry comes down to for me is love and life. The most important days, milestones, loves, and experiences of my life have been marked with jewelry. When I wear that jewelry, more than swathing myself in sparkle and bling, I'm clothing myself in the love and the memories of the people that gave me the pieces or that were part of my experience, whether that's my 29-year-old Single Bitter Woman self who I now remember with love and wish I could go back and advise her to relax, you will find someone, you will eventually have a beautiful daughter, life will be okay, or my husband who is truly my love and my partner in life and changed my life for the better in so many ways, or my amazing parents who sacrificed everything they ever had to give me a good life, symbolized in a pearl and diamond necklace and earrings that are really stand-ins for a tiny, not-worth-much-except-the-world-of-my-parents'-love chip of a diamond I never got to receive.

I am blessed and I am grateful to have so much love in my life. It's like the Mastercard commercial...gorgeous bling, sparkling diamonds, and pearls=$$$ dollars. Having an amazing family, loving, and being loved in return=priceless.

Least Glamorous Feature: My Feet

I have large feet, always have. I passed through my mother's shoe size in the fifth grade and kept on going. For most of my adult life, I've worn a size 10 (!) shoe.

When you wear a size 10, shoe shopping is no picnic. The world is made for the size 7s and 8s of the world, shoe-wise. Lots of shoes that look amazing and kick-ass in a size 7 or 8 look weirdly monstrous and boat-like in a size 10. Especially if, like me, you live in high heels (but not the little spindly heels, they have to be a good-sized heel to hold all 5'9" of me up!).

So, imagine my horror as my feet swelled and my calves and ankles teamed up into cankles for the last two months of my pregnancy. I was literally down to my last pair of shoes--a slide-on flat that I almost couldn't slide my toes under at the end (they were only half on, really), so huge were my feet. Aha! I thought. This is where the expression 'barefoot and pregnant' comes from--you end up literally barefoot at the end! It was so bad that my boss took pity on me and let me work from home a few days a week for the last few weeks of my pregnancy. No one wanted to have to look at my huge, scary cankles and listen to me shuffle around the office with my feet half out of my shoes.

As the end of my pregnancy drew near, I made plans. "I'm going to burn these horrible slide-on shoes after the baby comes!" "I can't wait until I can wear all my pretty size-10 heels again!" "I'm going to buy pretty new size-10 shoes to treat myself for having to wear these ugly slide-on shoes for the last few months!" etc.

I brought the baby home wearing the ugly shoes. And I kept wearing them, probably for the first month or two of her life. Meanwhile, the first 25 pounds of baby weight came slowly off, my feet went down to normal, my calves and ankles separated into two entities, and I anticipated my return to Size-10 High-Heel Glory.

Then, I began trying on all my shoes.

And almost all of them DIDN'T FIT.

Horrifically, post-pregnancy I am now a SIZE 11! 11! 11! Nineteen months...nineteen shoe-stressed months later, I still can't believe it.

My husband tried to console me at first. You haven't lost all your baby weight yet, he said. You should keep the shoes for when you lose the rest of the weight and they fit again. So I packed 30-plus pairs of shoes away into a bin for nine months. I lost the rest of my baby weight. I tried them all on again. No go. Still an 11.

When you're a size 11, there is no such thing as shoe shopping. There's no, gee, I really need a new pair of sexy black heels, let's go find some. It doesn't happen. 99.9 precent of stores do not carry an 11 in store. Most of them don't carry an 11 online either and I have to try a shoe on to know if it is going to work for me anyway.

The one store in town that carries a selection of size 11 shoes is Nordstrom's The Rack. Shoe shopping is, what does The Rack have in size 11? Will any of these weird shoes available in size 11 work with anything I own? Why are there no sexy black heels in size 11 here?

Last fall, I got really desperate. I needed to find a pair of knee-high black high-heel boots, a staple of my fall wardrobe, to replace the pair I could no longer wear. The Rack did not have anything, so I took a chance and went to Nordstrom proper. No point in actually looking at any of the shoes...I just cornered a salesgirl and asked her if they carried any size 11s. Yes, she replied. Hallelujah, I said. Please bring me any and all knee-high black high-heel boots you have in an 11. She returned with four pairs of black knee-high boots. Three of them were flat boots.

The single solitary pair of knee-high black high heel boots were by Cole Haan--gorgeous, incredibly comfortable boots (some sort of Nike Air cushioning inside) that made my calves look slim, slim, slim. I loved them. They were The Perfect Boots. My luck is changing, I thought! How much do these cost, I asked. $249, the salesgirl replied. $249!!!!!! I swallowed hard, pulled out my credit card, and bought them. I've never spent that much on a pair of shoes in my life! But, as I reminded my husband, they were THE ONLY BOOTS IN MY SIZE IN TOWN. A town that is the SEVENTH LARGEST CITY IN THE UNITED STATES.

There is no glamour in having size 11 feet. And sadly, I think my daughter will suffer the same fate as me. Already at 19 months, she wears a toddler size 8 shoe, which is a few sizes larger than most of my friends' kids of similar ages. And like me, the tops of her feet are very high, so lots of shoes with straps across the top are a no-go because her little feet won't slide under the straps! All those adorable little sparkly ballerina flats for toddlers...she can't wear any of them. So now I'm stressed about shoe shopping for two. As if my size 11 issue wasn't enough!