Easily Charmed

familyatocean

Our little family at the Ocean. . . a little trip to Manzanita last Saturday

 

So, it’s the New Year. Is your list of resolutions as long as mine? I figure I’ll wittle it down a bit and then maybe talk about it. This is a big year for me: turning 44 and that seems like a magical number. Worthy of big intentions and endeavoring.

But for now, I’m just hanging out with my little family, watching murder mysteries, and avoiding all the chores I should be doing.

Should is such an ugly word, anyhow.

But this much I will give you, I’m easily charmed. And I think, if I can remember that this year — or even be motivated by it, there is hope.

What I am not, at nearly 44, is a risk taker. Little things make me happy and change is not my friend. Not for the reasons you might think: I’m happy for things to be different. I’m just essentially lazy.  If you want to make it different, I’m down with that. If you want ME to make it different, I can’t hear you.

Example A: Any suggestion of moving, I immediately shudder and sputter: “I’m going to die in this house. In fact, I hate moving so much, they’ll bury me in the back-yard because it’s too much effort otherwise.”

This is not true, of course. I suspect a move is closer than even I can imagine. But, oh, how I hate the idea of packing. And that’s just one example.

My in-laws are in their late 70’s early 80’s and they are the epitome of change resistant. They’ve earned it. It’s not a criticism, but an observation. And a realization, that in my  mid-40’s I’m well on the road to saying, “Oh, that’s too much of a bother.”   Over the holidays, IZ and his sister were chatting via FaceTime and my FIL just waved his hand… it’s not for him.  I can identify, I feel the same way about cell phones. I practice that hand-wave, often.

Um…

So, I don’t know how I’ll cut down my list of to-do’s, must change, resolve to endeavor: but one thing is very clear to me. It’s time to face my fears and embrace this notion of change. This crazy idea of being connected to the outside world . 2014 may indeed be the year Wende gets a cell phone. (you should know I’m breaking out in a cold sweat just typing that sentence. Let’s just move, OK?!)

And no, I will not give you my phone number. I said I was easily charmed. Not stupid.

Now You’ve Gone and Done It

Mom Jeans?! Seriously?! *groan*

Now You’ve Gone and Done It

It was bound to happen eventually. But MUST all mom jeans look so, what’s the word, hideous? I get that once you reach a certain age weight begins to accumulate around your middle, unless you’re Heidi Klum. (I hate you Heidi Klum. No, really, I love you. But honestly girl, this “let me pop out babies and look 22” stuff is so last season!) And that means finding jeans to accommodate your new girth. But seriously, friends, this aging bit is on my last nerve.

And an aside, because I know some of you are not of that certain age and you’re saying in your head, “Oh, that’s never going to happen to me. I will never wear mom jeans.” Bad news, you probably will. I have proof. Go stand in front of a mirror. Who do you see standing there? Heidi Klum?

Anyhow, MY moment has come. I’ve lost some weight. Actually, quite a bit. I’ve not bought jeans in years and one pair of jeans does not a wardrobe make! I had a second pair, and um, blew out the thighs of those ridiculously thin and poorly made denim. My jeans are bagging off me so much I don’t even bother to unzip to pee. Not to mention the serious case of “granddad butt” going on. So, it was time. I just had no idea I’d be walking out of the store with a pair of mid-waisted dark wash mom jeans.

I tried for chic, I honestly did. I can’t explain why  every pair of  not mom jeans I tried on looked ridiculous. I kept looking at myself and thinking, “You’re not fooling anyone.” Besides, do I really need sparkly hearts and roses to decorate my mom ass? I don’t think so.

So, reluctantly (as in after 3 separate and loaded trips to the dressing room) I crossed the aisle to the adult jeans department. Elastic waists? GOD kill me know. Hidden “comfort” bands? Is there no shame? And then I saw them. A pair of mom jeans that promised  to “secretly slim” me.

I’m not sure if they’re actually slimming me. Upon closer inspection the tag doesn’t promise to make me look younger, in fact it reads, “sits higher on the waist.” If that’s not code for “mom jean” what is? It’s official. I’m a woman of a certain age.

And I’m pretty sure it’s no longer a secret.