I love a good pair of blue jeans. My strange, uneven hips are often a source of distress for me when choosing denim, so when I find a pair of pants that fit and look attractive I do all I can to extend their life. I've been known to visit all 7 stages of grief when a beloved pair of dungarees finally meets the scrap pile (Taps playing softly in my mind). After all, they were a labor of love.
Violet has similar issues when it comes to pants. Although the situation is improving, her rear end remains comically inadequate to hold up anything without the assistance of elastic.
The snow madness has begun to set in around here. We don't have it as bad as you northern folks, but this is an unusual amount of misery snow for Southern Ohio and we like to whine about it.
Violet has coped with her shut-in status as you would expect her to.
It would seem that our government has now outlawed hand-me-downs. Middle children of America will rejoice, right? Maybe not.
I've been hearing about the CPSIA in drips and drabs for a couple of months. I was concerned at first, because I do like to buy wooden/ organic/ not plastic playthings for my child and these new rules would make it hard for small and European toy makers to do business in these United States. I wasn't alarmed though, because I can't get worked up about buying new toys when my house is overrun by them. What most people don't realize is that the CPSIA made short, lazy work of the whole toxic toy problem by simply requiring that ANYTHING meant for use by ANYONE under the age of 12 be unit tested for lead and other chemicals. Minnesota Matron opened my eyes this morning to what this really means for frugal, environmentally responsible families. It means resale is dead. Thrift stores, consignment shops, local Mothers' Sales and even garage sales will be in violation of the law if they cannot prove that the items they are selling are free of lead and phthalates. They will, of course, not be able to do this. Third party testing can cost $4000 per item.
I am as worried about lead as the next Mommy. Violet had a slightly elevated lead level two years ago and we replaced dishes and our bathtub (it needed to be done anyway) and checked recall lists for all of her suspicious toys. I read a ton about where to find hidden lead and not one of the resources I checked suggested that I send my child's wardrobe off to be tested. I know that snaps and rhinestones and buttons and whatnot could potentially contain lead, but this is misplaced paranoia as far as I'm concerned. It goes too far. The cotton dresses and leggings that I find on the racks of my favorite thrift store are more likely to have bugs lurking in the seams than lead and phthalates. That's why I wash them when I get home. I take full responsibility for the minimal risk involved in second hand clothing.
I have already written to my congressman to let him know how I feel about this stupidly written law. I hope that you will do the same. Here are some helpful links.
I have never had the kind of body that fits easily into off the rack clothes. When I was very skinny, I simply wore whatever fit clung to my hip bones and I worked the adorably slack look. Now that my body has enjoyed the journey of motherhood, I find that I am too voluptuous for clothes that hang from my hip bones, because my hip bones no longer protrude. I have no waist and uneven hips. I also have enormous boobs. I know, I can hear the Itty-Bitty Titty Commitee boo me from their AA conference right now. I have offered on numerous occasions to donate my mammaries to anyone who is willing to pay for the surgery, but I've had no takers. They give me back aches and neck aches and cost me a fortune in equipment. My bazooms also make it hard to find clothes that fit. Oxfords and blouses? I look as if I may blind passersby with my straining buttons. Fitted shirts and tees? My heaving bosoms take up all the extra room that was intended for tummy coverage. I found myself wearing my old maternity clothes, well after the acceptable transition period had passed. Because, as you may recall, maternity clothes have a little extra room for swollen breasts. No one was the wiser. When I would pass the maternity section in stores I would look longingly at all the cute clothes that I didn't wear when I was expecting, because I became allergic to cute clothes and could only bring myself to wear a shapeless brown dress and a pair maternity sweat pants. Seams of any kind were my enemy and my belly was so vast in comparison to my hips that I could scarcely keep a pair of panties up. So, as I was wandering out of the dressing room at Old Navy, feeling defeated by the simple t-shirts I had just tried on, I fondled a few maternity tees. They were the same fabric and style as the shirts my boobs had just tried to eat, but they had a very subtle A-Line cut. The light bulb appeared above my head and I ran back into the dressing room, feeling like I had just invented calorie free chocolate. The maternity tee fit perfectly. There was room for my chest and the shirt didn't cling unflatteringly to my lumpy midsection. I regularly buy maternity clothes for myself now. Especially at Old Navy, the clothes are virtually the same as non-pregnancy clothes and they don't cost that much more. Today, I bought two beautiful wrap dresses off the clearance rack and once I remove the giant tag that says Maternity, no one will ever know. I feel like a special kind of genius.
