This someone also has maybe ten words, one of which is poop and one of which is boob. Maybe I need to talk about a wider range of stuff.
Like everyone else his age, Das Big Boy is obsessed with Frozen. Unlike everyone else, his favorite song is the “Ice song,” which opens the movie.
This weekend the four of us are crashing Mo’s Provincetown writing retreat. That’s how you know a bestie: she’s excited for your family to come dye eggs and do an egg hunt and probably have wingdings and smear boogies all over her quiet time.
Here is a two-second video of Das Big Boy watering the flower he planted at school. Please note my creepy voice as I praise his efforts.
Still adorable, in spite of my efforts.
One of the topics this blog promises to address is style, but it’s been a while since I’ve done so. You might be asking yourself, “Why would I take style advice from a woman with a once-a-week shower policy?”
To which I reply, “I’m not offering hygiene tips. And I like clothes, even if I only have four pairs of pants. Which is two more pairs of pants than I had before my last trip to Target.”
Anyway, these days I feel like I have two style icons: Small children and the Olsen Twins (whom I associate with small pants, floopy tops, big bags, big boots, messy hair, scarves, chunky jewelry). One of the things that’s fun about dressing kids is that it’s considered cute to mix patterns, textures, and do lots of layering. I’ve basically backwards planned this into my own wardrobe. So that’s my first style idea. Dress like you dress your toddler. If you don’t have a toddler, you can try dressing like I dress my toddlers.
Recently, I tried on this crab sweater (right) at a favorite boutique. I liked it because it looked like something Das Big Boy would wear. In fact, on Wednesday I frightened a small child at Das Big Boy’s preschool in the following manner. We’ll call him Cyrus because his name is Cyrus and that’s so damn cute. Keep in mind Cyrus isn’t even in DBB’s class and likely doesn’t know who I am.
Me: Cyrus, guess what?
Me: I recently tried on a shirt exactly like that. But it looked terrible on me because it looked like a four-year-old boy should be wearing it.
Cyrus smiles politely and starts looking for an exit.
Me: But I love it on you.
The problem was, it looked good on Cyrus, and it would have looked good on an adorable, sassy twenty year old. But I looked like a mom trying to dress like her children. Which I was. But it turns out I can’t be so obvious about it.
Which is why I wrote about it tonight.
My children celebrated by bickering over a cozy coupe and sharing a crib dance and hug. An only child myself, I thought it seemed like a pretty good way to mark this fake-o holiday.