Dear Ann Talyor,
I want to thank you for my recent, very pleasant trip to your offshoot store, Ann Taylor Loft. I ran in on a whim with my two daughters in tow after seeing an adorable corduroy jacket in the front window thinking I could quickly try it on over my T-shirt without having to disturb everyone in the dressing room with my girls' usual game of "Bunk Beds" where they argue over who gets to lie on top of and underneath the bench in the cubicle and they both wind up covered in dust bunnies (Old Navy is especially filthy).
After trying on said jacket and deciding to purchase it, I noticed a rack of lovely, fine-whaled cords behind the display and, buying the kids' silence with the promise of cinnamon sugar pretzels, sojourned into the dressing room with my usual size 12. Yes, Mean Mommy is a big gal, being almost five foot nine. In my dream world there would be a size 11 since I need to eat more desserts to really fill out a 12 or keep sending my local tailor's kids to private college with alterations. And I'd never get to eat dessert again (not possible) to fit into a 10 any other time than after a bout of stomach flu.
So imagine my surprise when I slipped on the pants and they were swimming on me! The attendant brought me a 10 and, again, too big! I was so shocked I hardly noticed #2's feet sticking out from under the bench and #1 pretending to snore. A size 8 was procured and - perfection! Had I entered a magical place where pounds melt off as you walk through the door? Donuts and fries for everyone!
Sadly, no. Having just weighed myself that morning, Ann Taylor, I knew I weighed not one pound more or less than I did a few weeks ago. While I thank you for the ego boost, I beg you to stop with this vanity sizing. While I'm sure you are seeing sales skyrocket, are you really doing women any good? I see the problem as two-fold.
First, if I have eaten my way into a bigger size, I should have to face it. I know, rationally, I can not exist on pie and wine and still keep my figure. You are only helping women delude themselves and have unfortunate, "Who the hell is the girl with the big butt in the mirror?" moments later on. A Size 16 butt is still a size 16 whatever the label says and I'd like to know when I've achieved one (as I did one unfortunate winter in college eating sour cream straight from the food service tub). And to not be totally superficial about it, it's just not healthy.
Second, you are not helping women accept the size and shape of their bodies. If I am exercising regularly and eating healthfully, I should be proud of my body no matter what size I wear. You are reinforcing the idea that women should be a certain size to be attractive and I do not like it. Not. At. All.
So, Ann Taylor, please do something about this. I not only disagree with your sizing based on the reasons above, but it also exponentially increases my time in the dressing room playing What Size Am I Here? It also allows enough time to produce two children who look like they've come out of a lint trap by the time we leave the dressing room. Someone really needs to get under there with a vacuum.
Sincerely,
Mary
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Momtourage
OK, the website iVillage, usually makes me want to puke my guts out with its dumbed-down political coverage and same "steal time for yourself" nonsense I discussed last week. Never mind that retch-inducing TV show they used to have lead by the animatronic Bill Rancic (who I am convinced is the one who left the hate mail). Something I do actually like on their site is the word they've created - momtourage.
While I do not enjoy the queer connotations they've given it, I appreciate promoting the concept that women need a support system of friends when in the trenches raising a family. I also appreciate its reference to one of my favorite TV shows and I'd like to think my momtourage is closer to that group. I have come up with a list of characteristics a mother should look for in their potential momtourage members, either singly, or in combination, to make this gig called parenting much easier.
1. A friend with older/more kids than you - A friend like this can give you sage advice and a shoulder to cry on since she's been there and done that. And while this is quite comforting, an added benefit to having this type of friend is nothing makes your lot in life seem much more bearable than seeing someone who's in a hell of a lot worse situation than you. Right now I bitch having to drag #1 to soccer two days a week, but that's nothing compared to my friend, S, who has three kids as well, two of whom are old enough to play sports and join clubs. And the damn homework. I'll shut my yap and get down on my knees to thank God all I have to do is get my kid through three worksheets after listening to S tell me about the diorama her oldest had to make detailing the ecosystem of the rain forest.
2. The friend who works/stays home - It is imperative that everyone have a friend who is living your "other" life. Not only are we keeping the options open for all mothers, but it also makes the grass on the other side look much more in need of a mowing and choked with dandelions. Days when I don't think I can sing "The Wheels on the Bus" one more time or make #2 another plate of goat cheese crackers (seriously, where does she get her tastes?) I try to think of my pal down the street who runs to catch a train after dropping her oldest at school and know that I would rather be here than there. Because while she does get to dress up every day and talk to grown ups about something other than carpool, I get to see the smile on my kids faces when they come home each day. And on her side, she might envy the things I just listed, but when I tell her of my insecurities about my own financial worth and atrophying of my critical thinking skills due to heavy doses of Blues Clues, it must make her feel a little better about her choice too.
3. The friend with the messy house - In our relentless pursuit of perfection, women can become crazed about things that really don't matter. I, for instance, am obsessed with removing dog hair from my floors lest anyone think my house is dirty. Occasionally, as I am about to imprison the baby in his highchair and whip out the vacuum, yet again, with Sisyphean resignation, I think of my friend whose house, while reasonably clean and organized, is not a shrine to Good Housekeeping and she could not care less. Her breakfast dishes are still in the sink at three o'clock? She doesn't care. She'd rather take her kids to the park. We all need a friend like this who is living what we think is our worst case scenario, whether you issue is the cleanliness of your floors or the lack or cooking skills, to see that the world would not end should you not beat yourself up over your shortcoming. I would see that if the baby were, in fact, able to pick up fistfuls of dog hair off the floor he would not wind up in therapy (OK, I might shoot myself at that point, but I'm trying.) Accept your limitations and move on.
4. A woman your age with no children - Everyone needs an escape and when I have had it with the kids and the house and Hubby (that one's rare, H!) I hightail it out of the house and make plans with one of my friends who has not yet reproduced. Hanging out with these ladies, I get a break from the constant worry of mothering, Because even when you go out-out with your mom pals, like I did this weekend to a bar, you still find yourself asking questions about next week's book report. I found myself doing just that while having my fifth drink wearing The Pony Shoes and thought, "What the hell am I doing??", but you can't help yourself. When you hang out with the child-free you feel like an ass talking about your kids so it's a built in safety valve. It also gives you perspective on your own life, because while I miss my single days, wouldn't really want to live them again and I realize how lucky I really am. It also helps that with these ladies only one of you needs childcare so it's less like trying to align the planets.
So, thank you, to my posse. You keep my sane and I couldn't do it without you. Now if I could combine Entourage with my momtourge we'd all go have a champagne lunch at The Ivy (with Lloyd, of course).
While I do not enjoy the queer connotations they've given it, I appreciate promoting the concept that women need a support system of friends when in the trenches raising a family. I also appreciate its reference to one of my favorite TV shows and I'd like to think my momtourage is closer to that group. I have come up with a list of characteristics a mother should look for in their potential momtourage members, either singly, or in combination, to make this gig called parenting much easier.
1. A friend with older/more kids than you - A friend like this can give you sage advice and a shoulder to cry on since she's been there and done that. And while this is quite comforting, an added benefit to having this type of friend is nothing makes your lot in life seem much more bearable than seeing someone who's in a hell of a lot worse situation than you. Right now I bitch having to drag #1 to soccer two days a week, but that's nothing compared to my friend, S, who has three kids as well, two of whom are old enough to play sports and join clubs. And the damn homework. I'll shut my yap and get down on my knees to thank God all I have to do is get my kid through three worksheets after listening to S tell me about the diorama her oldest had to make detailing the ecosystem of the rain forest.
2. The friend who works/stays home - It is imperative that everyone have a friend who is living your "other" life. Not only are we keeping the options open for all mothers, but it also makes the grass on the other side look much more in need of a mowing and choked with dandelions. Days when I don't think I can sing "The Wheels on the Bus" one more time or make #2 another plate of goat cheese crackers (seriously, where does she get her tastes?) I try to think of my pal down the street who runs to catch a train after dropping her oldest at school and know that I would rather be here than there. Because while she does get to dress up every day and talk to grown ups about something other than carpool, I get to see the smile on my kids faces when they come home each day. And on her side, she might envy the things I just listed, but when I tell her of my insecurities about my own financial worth and atrophying of my critical thinking skills due to heavy doses of Blues Clues, it must make her feel a little better about her choice too.
3. The friend with the messy house - In our relentless pursuit of perfection, women can become crazed about things that really don't matter. I, for instance, am obsessed with removing dog hair from my floors lest anyone think my house is dirty. Occasionally, as I am about to imprison the baby in his highchair and whip out the vacuum, yet again, with Sisyphean resignation, I think of my friend whose house, while reasonably clean and organized, is not a shrine to Good Housekeeping and she could not care less. Her breakfast dishes are still in the sink at three o'clock? She doesn't care. She'd rather take her kids to the park. We all need a friend like this who is living what we think is our worst case scenario, whether you issue is the cleanliness of your floors or the lack or cooking skills, to see that the world would not end should you not beat yourself up over your shortcoming. I would see that if the baby were, in fact, able to pick up fistfuls of dog hair off the floor he would not wind up in therapy (OK, I might shoot myself at that point, but I'm trying.) Accept your limitations and move on.
4. A woman your age with no children - Everyone needs an escape and when I have had it with the kids and the house and Hubby (that one's rare, H!) I hightail it out of the house and make plans with one of my friends who has not yet reproduced. Hanging out with these ladies, I get a break from the constant worry of mothering, Because even when you go out-out with your mom pals, like I did this weekend to a bar, you still find yourself asking questions about next week's book report. I found myself doing just that while having my fifth drink wearing The Pony Shoes and thought, "What the hell am I doing??", but you can't help yourself. When you hang out with the child-free you feel like an ass talking about your kids so it's a built in safety valve. It also gives you perspective on your own life, because while I miss my single days, wouldn't really want to live them again and I realize how lucky I really am. It also helps that with these ladies only one of you needs childcare so it's less like trying to align the planets.
So, thank you, to my posse. You keep my sane and I couldn't do it without you. Now if I could combine Entourage with my momtourge we'd all go have a champagne lunch at The Ivy (with Lloyd, of course).
Friday, September 26, 2008
The Shit List (Part 2)
Meh. It's raining. At least it's Friday. This Friday...
The Shit list (Part2)
5. My electrician who did not tell me the “small holes” he would be putting in the ceiling would cause a dust storm akin to the one at the end of Indiana Jones. Enjoy some drywall dust with your Cheerios kids because it’s gonna take a while for Mommy to clean every piece of earthenware we own. It’s calcium rich, right?
4. The dry cleaning delivery guy who is so afraid of my giant ball of love (also known as the dog) that he will not even knock. Granted, our doorbell is perpetually covered with a “Sleeping Baby” sign, but do not hang my forty pounds of dry cleaning that I finally managed to bring in on my $1.99 wreath hook pushing it to the breaking point while displacing my cheap Martha Stewart for Kmart wreath. It barely survived the trip home, never mind being tossed around on my porch. While I depend on your service mightily since no place is less convenient to go with small children and a baby than the cleaners (in my opinion, every place should either have carts where you can imprison your infant or have a drive through window – especially Dunkin Donuts), please do not make me call again and again and have a conversation with you in broken English trying to convey what "the brink of insanity" means.
3. The garbage man who is obviously so tired he can barely manage to get the garbage in the truck as evidenced by the fact that he drops our cans and their lids in the middle of the street after emptying them. We, unlike my elderly yard obsessed neighbors, are usually the one with our cans rolling down the street two days later (garbage does not fall under my jurisdiction and have I not discussed Hubby’s idea that there are “people” we can hire for everything?). I am also not so concerned with gathering said cans while emerging from the van with the baby crying to eat and #2 needing to use the potty so please make us look less like the irresponsible jackasses we are and at least drop them somewhere near the house. Please?
2. The mother with one child in tow who takes the parking space closest to school at drop-off and pick-up. Are we not all sisters? I will shoot you dirty looks as I drag my four year old all the way from the last spot through the rain as she jabs me in the thigh repeatedly with her cow umbrella (with horns and ears so I guess it’s really a bull) while trying to hold the umbrella over my thirty pound baby and myself and you will be ashamed. I am the handicapped of the preschool world so, while there is no sign, that spot is reserved for me.
1. And speaking of mothers, Mother Nature tops my shit list this Friday since it is pissing rain and will continue to do so through tomorrow night, the one night I have had plans to go out for ages and wear the aforementioned Pony Shoes. My hair will also look like rusted brillo adding insult to sensible footwear.
So Happy Friday to all. I’m sure my mood will improve as the day goes on and I acquire more caffeine in my bloodstream. And yes, I realize I sound like a huge princess bitching about all the service people listed above. When I start complaining about my manicurist, masseuse and personal chef you all have the right to come right over and punch me in the face.
The Shit list (Part2)
5. My electrician who did not tell me the “small holes” he would be putting in the ceiling would cause a dust storm akin to the one at the end of Indiana Jones. Enjoy some drywall dust with your Cheerios kids because it’s gonna take a while for Mommy to clean every piece of earthenware we own. It’s calcium rich, right?
4. The dry cleaning delivery guy who is so afraid of my giant ball of love (also known as the dog) that he will not even knock. Granted, our doorbell is perpetually covered with a “Sleeping Baby” sign, but do not hang my forty pounds of dry cleaning that I finally managed to bring in on my $1.99 wreath hook pushing it to the breaking point while displacing my cheap Martha Stewart for Kmart wreath. It barely survived the trip home, never mind being tossed around on my porch. While I depend on your service mightily since no place is less convenient to go with small children and a baby than the cleaners (in my opinion, every place should either have carts where you can imprison your infant or have a drive through window – especially Dunkin Donuts), please do not make me call again and again and have a conversation with you in broken English trying to convey what "the brink of insanity" means.
3. The garbage man who is obviously so tired he can barely manage to get the garbage in the truck as evidenced by the fact that he drops our cans and their lids in the middle of the street after emptying them. We, unlike my elderly yard obsessed neighbors, are usually the one with our cans rolling down the street two days later (garbage does not fall under my jurisdiction and have I not discussed Hubby’s idea that there are “people” we can hire for everything?). I am also not so concerned with gathering said cans while emerging from the van with the baby crying to eat and #2 needing to use the potty so please make us look less like the irresponsible jackasses we are and at least drop them somewhere near the house. Please?
2. The mother with one child in tow who takes the parking space closest to school at drop-off and pick-up. Are we not all sisters? I will shoot you dirty looks as I drag my four year old all the way from the last spot through the rain as she jabs me in the thigh repeatedly with her cow umbrella (with horns and ears so I guess it’s really a bull) while trying to hold the umbrella over my thirty pound baby and myself and you will be ashamed. I am the handicapped of the preschool world so, while there is no sign, that spot is reserved for me.
1. And speaking of mothers, Mother Nature tops my shit list this Friday since it is pissing rain and will continue to do so through tomorrow night, the one night I have had plans to go out for ages and wear the aforementioned Pony Shoes. My hair will also look like rusted brillo adding insult to sensible footwear.
So Happy Friday to all. I’m sure my mood will improve as the day goes on and I acquire more caffeine in my bloodstream. And yes, I realize I sound like a huge princess bitching about all the service people listed above. When I start complaining about my manicurist, masseuse and personal chef you all have the right to come right over and punch me in the face.
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