Friday night I got dressed up and wore big fat flowers in my hair. Today you will find me in spandex and a t-shirt, my hair in a bandanna – the last day of such nonsense since tomorrow I will have to be in some work garb. Oh the work attire – translation: neither flowers in my hair nor spandex on the bum.
I just dropped Lucia off for her first day at “big kid school” as we have been calling it, which essentially means that I just took her to daycare – the must-do worst part of a working mommy’s life. I have had myself several good cries, one of which I just dried up, another of which is surely on its way. I have to keep telling myself that everything will be okay. I know it will. Change is hard. I am at least happy for the last couple of months home with little Chee. But otherwise, not feeling so floral today.
This cute Saturday attire was a hard lesson learned – a lesson I should already know after living in this very heated locale for the past five years. Hello, panhandle state! When will I ever learn that no matter how glorious a print mix-up, now matter how fabulous the below-the-knee skirt and no matter how flowery delightful the garb atop my head – such layered combinations do not harmoniously marry a hot Oklahoma afternoon. No, no, sir-eee. I have to say that this here was a doozy, a blunder! I could have at least pinned my hair up and away to spare myself a bit. And, let’s be honest, perhaps even more obnoxious than a hat or mid-calf skirt in the middle of summer, was the fact that the skirt’s material was rather heavy – I hate to admit that it may have been a light wool? Yes, a blunder, I know.
The Details from above – Printed Shirt: Forever 21 from long ago; skirt: thrifted for three dollars; pearls: a Venezuelan gift from my mom; hat: thrifted; sandals: Mossimo from Target last year.
We had a swell fourth of July; and though I did not tackle a traditional fourth ensemble, I made my patriotism clear with sparks of the ever-appropriate and necessary red, white and blue. Stacks of red necklaces? Yes ma’m! I tried on three outfits before we went for hot dogs and watermelon, and ended up wearing the orange on the end and tying it up to avoid some heat, just as my bestie Sasha would do – yes, true Sasha style. But copying someone is the greatest form of flattery, right? Oh, I have always hated that! Did your mom tell you that too?
My lovely floral top is from Target and I was excited to grab it the other day for sixteen bucks because of all of the possibilities that it presented – as you can see I can pretty much layer and combine it with anything and everything!
On Father’s Day Mister Mateo woke to a big fat present of new fishing goodies; a little gift I dreamt up because one of his latest wishes is to take my little Chee on fishing dates at the pond near our house. In his bucket-o-goodies, I included a Barbie fishing pole and life jacket for Lucia, bug spray, sunscreen, a new tackle box for him and a first aid kit. Ha! A first aid kit you ask? Yes. Because my memories of fishing include getting stuck with hooks; I imagine my little L needing a band aid if such a travesty occurs at her expense.
Later we went along for a ride, a ride in which I drove because, after all, it was Father’s Day. I hate driving, but again, it was Father’s Day. Guess where we ventured? Record Stores, oh my! GuestRoom on Western did not have both vinyls that the hubs desired, so we ventured down to Bricktown, (rhyme unintended). Two new records procured and a stroll through the bricked streets later, we headed back through Mid-town, up to Iron Starr where the fried okra might be the best I have ever had and the Choc Beer is deliciously cold.
Such a lovely family day and such joy to celebrate my husband, her daddy.
I enjoy listening to Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros more than I enjoy eating fresh baked bread with butter, which my darlings, is a huge statement. Home, home is wherever I’m with you, Matthew Gray. Home, home is how I feel when this song plays. Home is where I can hold Matt’s hand, stare at my pink walls and watch Lucia build huge block towers. Home is where our dog, if she tries to run across the concrete floor too quickly, loses her footing and looks like she might never make it to the other side. Home is where this song can be playing, and within a second of each other, my husband and I proclaim that the tune reminds us of Johnny Cash. Home is where I proceed to tell him that I love the folk-like narrative quality and the mix of dialogue. Home is where I feel happy and whole. Home is wherever I’m with you.