Tankini Wahini

Is anyone else appalled at the price of bathing suits? I just ordered one on clearance from Land's End, the crown jewel of the bathing suit empire for those of us who are looking for bathing suit descriptions that include such phrases as:

• The texture that slims
  


• Tiny vertical ribs smooth and slim your figure
  


• Details that flatter your figure
  


• You'll look a size smaller—instantly
  


• Skip the sit-ups!
  


• Anxiety zone solution: tummy control firms you, yet you feel comfortable
  

If you are looking for a bathing suit that will make you look hot, do your shopping elsewhere but if, like me, you are looking for all of the attributes listed above (taken directly from the latest Land's End swim wear catalog), you need to look no further than LandsEnd.com. Better start saving now though because a suit that lets you skip the sit-ups isn't going to come cheap. I got a bargain, snagging one from last year's collection off of the online clearance rack for $39.99. Any of this year's line will run you $90 and up for a tankini, the only acceptable mom-suit at pools these days. Sure, traditional bikinis are always acceptable for the lucky Mamas who can pull them off but for most of us, its tankini city.

But $90? $90! Does that seem a bit excessive to anyone else? You can hop on LandsEnd.com and order a pair of men's trunks for $19.99, NOT on sale. What's up with that? It's not like women's suits are incredibly detailed and made of high cost materials, we're just desperate to pull them off, so desperate that we'll drop $120 on a good suit without hesitation. So, don't be snowed by promises that you can skip the sit-ups if you wear a particular suit. Do a few sit-ups, shop the clearance racks and flash dirty looks from under your sunglasses at the hot moms in bikinis at the pool. Everybody wins.

Hat Tricks

Given my status around the changing table (that's the mom's water cooler for those of you who aren't hip to such things) as a certifiable fashionista, I have decided to start a new trend for the summer: hats. Sure, it
sounds simple and perhaps a bit of a faux pas but I'm determined to change that. By the end of the summer, people will see me coming around the corner in my faded "Life is Good" ball cap and haul ass to their local outfitter to purchase one for themselves. I don't look particularly attractive in a hat. I have short hair and no neck. This is not a good hat combination. In order to really look good in a hat you need a nice thick ponytail that fits perfectly through the hole in the back of the cap and a long thin neck. A sports bra and some shorty shorts come in handy too. They all come together nicely to create a hot hat look.

I'm not going for a hot hat look. I'm going for the yes-in-fact-this-hat-DOES-look-good-on-me-and-it-also-covers-up-my-terrible-haircut-and-saves-me-about-15-minutes-in-the-morning look. Are you with me?

My next move: stopping the Carrie Bradshaw-inspired stiletto insanity. Seriously, who let this happen? I'm bringing back the flip flop!

Dilation

I had an eye exam today. I've been out of contacts for about 2 months now and for the past few weeks I've been walking around with my super chic fake Chanel shades over my glasses. Admit it. I'm just about the coolest woman you know.

I don't like to have my eyes dilated but, due to some maintenance meds I take, I have to once a year. I got my eyes checked, dilated and prodded in every conceivable manner. I picked out some glasses (post dilation) and got a little seasick looking in the mirror. I shudder to think what I ended up with. They'll probably make me look like Harry Cary but, at least I'll be able to see. Plus, I got some contacts so I can turn my cool meter up a notch when I lose the pair of glasses under my faux Chanels. This was all to the tune of $336.00. That's AFTER insurance people. Holy crap! Eye care is expensive.

My daughter, who accompanied me to the eye exam, insisted that she wear her princess dress and spent the entire time charming the pants off of the staff by twirling and leaping in her fluffy skirt. She left the office with three plastic toys from the prize bowl and an inflated three-year-old ego. I left with a $336 hole in my pocket and some old-lady cataract shades. Go figure.

A Great Day for Cut

I committed a mortal sin today when I took my 2-and-a-half-year-old daughter to get her long, beautiful hair chopped off. I've been picturing her with a swing bob for a couple weeks now and decided to bite the bullet today. They cut about 4 inches off and she looks a-freakin'-dorable but very different and OLDER.  Check out the before and after pictures of my hip little diva:

D-I-V-A

 

I left the house in a hurry this afternoon. I was running late to pick my son up from school and was having a hard time getting my daughter out the door. Her arms were full of random stuff and she
refused to leave without her treasures. I did a quick scan to make sure that she wasn't holding anything living or perishable (my standards are pretty low) and scooped her up into her car seat.  My daughter was singing softly as I pulled out the driveway and it continued for the duration of the trip. She loves to sing so this is nothing unusual. Her songs, however, rarely vary. It's either the theme song to "My Friends Tigger and Pooh" or "Little Einsteins" (Are you detecting a theme here?) and I didn't recognize the one she was singing this time. I was finally able to relax when I pulled into the car line and realized that I wasn't, in fact, the last parent to arrive. Phew. Being the last parent is my personal Mom nightmare.

I turned around and looked at my daughter for the first time since we'd left the house. She was still singing. I smiled as I took her in. She had on bright purple sunglasses and her Princess tiara. She was singing what turned out to be the "Doodle Bops" theme song into a microphone that she got for Christmas. She had done all of this without any help from anyone. It was adorable and terrifying at the same time. What we have here, ladies and gentlemen, is a Diva. D-I-V-A Diva!

Brown Eyed Girls

I had a very profound moment with my daughter this morning. I had just finished getting dressed for the day and we started our walk down the stairs. It was just her and I because my son was at school. She asked me to hold her hand. This is unusual for her—she's normally quite independent. I looked at her like I always do, taking notice of how incredibly beautiful she is. I said, "Sweetie, you look beautiful this morning."

She replied, "Mommy, you look pretty too."

It was a simple exchange but it filled me with joy. I got to see myself through her beautiful brown eyes and, wouldn't you know it, I did look pretty too.

Exercise Endorphins

I have weight loss fantasies on a regular basis. They usually occur while I'm at the gym, listening to 90's hip-hop music. I guess it may have something to do with the exercise endorphins that we've all read about. I have always been suspicious of these endorphins. Do they really exist? Is it all just a scam to get us to buy gym memberships and Nike athletic wear? My predominant emotion when I exercise (pre iPod) was anger along with a running dialogue in my head that screamed, "When the hell is this torture going to be over?"

God bless my iPod. It has completely changed my workout attitude. I start jamming to Heavy D & the Boyz and completely forget that I am working out. I know I look like a fool because I do a little white girl dancing on the treadmill from time to time. I can't help it. Who can listen to Toni! Tony! Tone! and NOT sway their hips?

Back to the weight loss fantasies: Apparently exercise endorphins encourage elaborate delusions of beauty and fitness. It is not uncommon for me to imagine my reunion with an old friend after my inevitable dramatic weight loss. I like to imagine what jeans I'll be wearing and what they will say to me when they see the lesser me for the first time. I indulge myself in these fantasies on a regular basis and I usually look like a Barbie doll, complete with perky breasts, a tiny waist and the complete absence of a muffin-top.

Last Friday while on the treadmill, I was feeling great. My mind was going 100 miles an hour. I was thinking about my new body and how much better my life will be when my outside finally matches my inside. It was like watching a movie on fast forward. I couldn't catch all of it but I saw bits and pieces. I had to slam on the breaks when I saw some Mary Lou Retton moves and hit the fantasy rewind button. I slowed down the scenario and had to laugh at myself.

My deluded Barbie doll self was meeting an old friend for lunch. When I arrived at the restaurant to meet her, I walked in the front door and did a back handspring, a round off, a couple cartwheels and some aerial somersaults. I executed a flawless landing directly in front of her and nonchalantly shook her hand. My spry Barbie body not only gives me self-confidence, it also gives me super human gymnastic ability. When was the last time you saw a thirty two year old woman do a back hand spring? I learned two things from this incident:

1. My expectations about weight loss are not at all based in reality.
   



2. Exercise endorphins are not a Nike conspiracy. They exist and they are dangerous.

The Becky Baker Skin Care Line

I have always been a sucker for good marketing. I see an ad
in a magazine for the latest and greatest skin cream, run my hands over my face
and think, “Finally. A product that was made for me.” I haul ass to the nearest
department store and wade through the sea of beautiful, two-dimensional women
pushing products of all kind. One whispers in my ear, “All you need is a little
Compound Q-90 and your skin will look like mine.” Another calls a little
louder, “Check out my lips. They shimmer like a disco ball. Don’t you want some
of what I’ve got?”

My response is quick and impulsive, “Yes, yes I do. Bring on
the disco lips.”

The last woman, surrounded by delicate bottles of high-tech
pastel concoctions, calls out the loudest, “Free gift!”

Sold. I walk up to the counter and ask one of the lab
technicians to assist me with my blemishes, wrinkles, blotches and crow’s feet.
She is kind enough to acknowledge each imperfection and suggests a separate
cure for each one. I breathe a sigh of relief. If I want to look like the woman
on the poster, I can, for $125.62. I can feel the brakes screech in my mind. I
come to a stark realization: I can’t afford this crap. I high tail it out of
the store with no purchases in hand and realize that I could have just blown my
weekly grocery budget on skin care.

This nonsense must stop. Upscale skin care is a racket.
Sure, there might be people out there who have highly sensitive skin and need a
special kind of make-up but a trip to the Neutrogena aisle in their local
Wal-Mart will probably do the trick. If you can afford it, be my guest. Fork
out $27.95 for a bottle of Bare Minerals foundation. But if, like me, you
teeter on the edge of your means when you get ready to hand the lab technician
your credit card then please join me in my quest for skin care simplicity.

I’ve pledged my allegiance to the Becky Baker skincare line
(named after my friend Alyson’s Mother, a frugal woman with beautiful skin). It
consists of baby wash ($.99), rubbing alcohol or witch hazel ($.89-2.00) and
generic face lotion ($4.49). That’s two-three months worth of skincare products
for about $8.00. Sure, I might throw in some Clinique astringent or MAC lotion
now and then (I’ve got it. I can’t let it go to waste), but I am dedicated to
the cause. Those two-dimensional women in the department stores are liars and
I’m going to prove it. I’ll report back on the condition of my skin in three
months. I’m sure you’ll all be waiting with bated breath.