boots & watch: target. grey skinny jeans: kohls. shirt: modbe. cardigan: j.crew. scarf & headbands: forever 21. belt: Pocket's.
My kids love hearing stories about themselves when they were little. Or just about themselves in general. Because, let's face it, the world contained within these four walls actually does revolve around them. Mmmm...kind of. Anyway, my son particularly loves the story about the funny, slash, disgusting thing that happened when he was a brandnew baby and Pocket was changing his diaper. I'd detail it here, but some of you don't have children yet, and I don't want to dissuade you from the decision.
Don't you love it when someone does that? Like, dangles a tidbit of a story in front of you like a zhu-zhu pet in front of a puppy, then doesn't follow through with the juicy details? Well...I promise you, this isn't like that. The details of this story are indeed juicy. Quite literally. So. I'll just leave you with two words and let your imaginations run wild: "projectile" and "poo."
Annnd...enough about you. Let's talk about me. Jumping-off point today was comfort and flexibility, because I was watching my 2- and 0-year-old nephews this morning. So. I just sort of piled stuff on until I ran out of time while my kids ate breakfast. Oooh, that's a great idea for a game show, no? Contestants have a closetful of clothes and 30 seconds to throw on a decent outfit before, say, three children in the next room (ages 2, 4, and 6, hypothetically speaking of course) start fingerpainting the furniture with yogurt, guzzling syrup from the bottle, and creating eternity pools of their cups by pouring their own milk.
And if that totally made-up make-believe absolutely fictional scenario made your forehead break out in tiny beads of sweat, I don't know what to say. 'Cept this: Don't come live at my house for the next 10 years.
Anyway. This is what I wore today. And if you're going to tell me that I'm too old to wear double braids, I'm going to fake geriatric-induced hearing loss and wear them anyway. Yep. Fake. Because, haven't you heard? 31 is the new 17... or 11...okay, FINE, 3.
Happy Thursday.
Don't you love it when someone does that? Like, dangles a tidbit of a story in front of you like a zhu-zhu pet in front of a puppy, then doesn't follow through with the juicy details? Well...I promise you, this isn't like that. The details of this story are indeed juicy. Quite literally. So. I'll just leave you with two words and let your imaginations run wild: "projectile" and "poo."
Annnd...enough about you. Let's talk about me. Jumping-off point today was comfort and flexibility, because I was watching my 2- and 0-year-old nephews this morning. So. I just sort of piled stuff on until I ran out of time while my kids ate breakfast. Oooh, that's a great idea for a game show, no? Contestants have a closetful of clothes and 30 seconds to throw on a decent outfit before, say, three children in the next room (ages 2, 4, and 6, hypothetically speaking of course) start fingerpainting the furniture with yogurt, guzzling syrup from the bottle, and creating eternity pools of their cups by pouring their own milk.
And if that totally made-up make-believe absolutely fictional scenario made your forehead break out in tiny beads of sweat, I don't know what to say. 'Cept this: Don't come live at my house for the next 10 years.
Anyway. This is what I wore today. And if you're going to tell me that I'm too old to wear double braids, I'm going to fake geriatric-induced hearing loss and wear them anyway. Yep. Fake. Because, haven't you heard? 31 is the new 17... or 11...okay, FINE, 3.
Happy Thursday.
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