Saturday, December 20, 2008


You know all that time your mother and father spent telling you about priorities? How you sat there as they lectured on and on nodding your head when appropriate to at least let them think you get it. But in reality you maintained your I-know-I-get-it- look while wondering if you should were your red button up shirt to school the next day or is that too holidayish? Maybe you should call your friends when this lame-o lecture is done to see if they were gonna dress holiday, because then the red shirt would be cool.
I wish I was better at keeping my priorities straight. It's five days before Christmas and my closet is a mountain of bags and paper and ribbon. It is starting to loom over me, I keep mentally making excuse not to tackle it. The trouble is I don't really feel like doing any wrapping, or taking inventory as to who is getting what. I can tell you the five year old has loads of stuff as she is so easy to buy for but the older girls have very little. They are the hardest, it is my fault as I have raised them to be independent and free thinking, they don't like the mall, or anything trendy (is a sweater trendy?), they are very much like me only they don't hyperventilate over vintage patterns and mother of pearl buttons. I wish they did, this would all be so much easier!
To validate how bad my closet is: This morning we had company on short notice and I jammed my yoga ball in my closet (professional quick cleaner) later Bubby and I went to get something, the ball burst out knocking him over in such a way a gymnast would have been proud.
I guess I should be a grown up and face what I have to do. Life is hard work (this is what I tell my kids all the time). So I will get off this computer and do it. Can I at least watch Christmas in Connecticut first? I am from Connecticut afterall and I haven't even seen this film. I can't be in Connecticut for Christmas this year (insert anguish like sob here). Isn't this a valid enough request???
This is the part where I turn and face away from you with a vintage handkerchief held to my mouth. My hair is brilliant, my dress sways delicately. I stare off in the distance, my closet in the background looking forlorn. When all of a sudden enters Ken. He is so handsome, my heart stops. His hair looks brilliant, too. He pulls me close to him, his chin resting on my head, I inhale dramatically, smelling the spicy italian sub he had for lunch then tried to cover up with a peppermint. Our eyes lock and we step slowly at first then quicker until he carries me off to the boudoir (what's a boudoir? And okay he's not as much carrying me as just taking the weight off my legs and I skip/drag my feet). We embrace wondering where this is taking us in the middle of the day. I am a lady, I think to myself but the passion is overpowering. Ken fumbles with my mother of pearl buttons remarking how beautiful they are, I reply they are vintage... when all of a sudden, the door swings open and in comes Molly pulling Bubs by the arm, "He stinkth", she says.
Okay, I'm going.


Leila said...

I'm pretty sure that when a very busy, responsible person can't face stuff in a closet it's because the time isn't right, and probably later that person will find that the time is right, but only then.

It's all good.

Is your hair brilliant, or brilliantined? That would be vintage!

I'm enjoying your blog! I'm glad I found it!