I got dressed up for real today, to go to one of the "girls'" birthday lunch. I've missed the last two of them, and between wanting to catch up with them, needing a short change of scenery, and just spending a couple of hours with people who, like me, want to pretend all is hunky dory in life (even if it's not true) and will specifically stay away from any sad topics, I figured it was actually therapeutic for me to go.
So I put on one of my new (read: larger sized, sigh) dresses--a brown and cream empire waist, scoop-necked deal that was a total steal and looks so much more expensive than it was--my new brown Kenneth Cole ankle strap heels and makeup! This is the first time this month I've worn make-up (not counting lip gloss, which I've suddenly gotten a junior high fascination for, these last few months) in a non-official/non medical* related visit, and the third or fourth overall this month. Which is three or four times more than I have in the last almost year; I think I did the whole eyes/lips/foundation routine last September? Maybe even further back? Anyway, it was nice to dress up and have lunch with women I seriously respect, who come from various backgrounds, and are at various stages of their lives. (I'm the youngest 'girl' and the oldest 'girl' is exactly twice my age).
[*There's been this sort of unspoken agreement between my sister and I that we now dress to the nines whenever we have to go anywhere with our mother, and we're even dressing nicer when we are just all hanging out casually. She's always been a sharp dresser and put together, even when dressed for sleep, and given that she ended up with two daughters who were underground on the maintenance measuring pole, I guess it's some crazy gesture on our part to make up for...something. Granted, my sister always dresses nice for work--she has to--but she's taken it up a notch and I am pulling out all the stops when I am with them and it has made mom happy. (And my dad, who abhors my cargo pants and T-shirt uniform, is possibly the happiest one). Plus, people DO treat you differently when you are dressed nicely. Not to mention that you--well, at least I--walk and talk much more confidently adult (as opposed to my usual in your face confidence) and that also seems to impress people. ]
The only downside of the lunch was that I had a small--4-5 oz maybe?--Bloody Mary as a pre-lunch drink (that's not the downside), which was chock full of ice and I drank another 2-3 glasses of water on top of it and I had a carb intensive lunch and I had a 32 oz cup of coffee afterwards and I had a 20 oz bottle of Gatorade an hour after all that, yet I am still buzzed and now starting to hit a hang over, apparently. WTF? I really should learn my lesson and not order a drink, period during these get togethers; they never, ever bode well.
***
I came back from lunch and Houdini was crying someone a river before I walked through the door. He's been skipping naps and waking up early, and has been Crankypants Central for a couple of days, so I wasn't too surprised. Once he calmed down (he'd just started a few minutes before I'd walked through the door), and we were in the living room sorting through some blocks, I asked him to tell me what he'd done while I was gone. Keep in mind, Lemel had sent me a few pictures of all the things they'd done: playing with bubbles, playing with the sprinkler, watering the plants, taking a wagon ride around the development, etc. Serious fun. So what does Houdini tell me after a few deep sniffs?
"Daddy wouldn't leave the house and he let me cry and Daddy got angry."
Four hours of fun and frolic and all he remembers is having to come in because it was getting too hot and Lemel wanted him inside to cool down and so Houdini threw a fit and Lemel refused to give in (that's the 'got angry' part; Lemel couldn't get angry if his life depended on it.) I had to laugh because usually I get the short end of the stick when it comes to stuff like this. The 'Daddy let me cry' part was priceless; I thought Lemel was going to cry, he look so hurt!
Even when he finally started telling me about the different things, he'd still come back to his sad, sad tale: "We went in the big cart and...(pause) Daddy let me cry!" "Daddy blow bubbles and I popped them and ....(pause) Daddy wouldn't leave the house and he let me cry!"
Poor Lemel; now he's anticipating a weekend of me saying 'Daddy let me cry' at every given (and some non given) opportunity.
