weddings – kellieann

In case you didn’t know, I haven’t blogged since November. I thought you might like to know why. So, here are my reasons…

1. I don’t have time for this nonsense.

I really don’t. I really, really don’t. I have tried to make time and failed. I have tried to steal time and failed. I have tried to invent time and failed. I’m going to give you many more reasons why I haven’t been blogging, but basically they are all going to come back to this one in some way.

2. I am distracted.

I live in a house with an active, noisy family. I home school my boys. So, that means I am basically never alone. I also never…and I mean never…have a time when I don’t have anything else to do. Oh, I may pretend. I may sit in my comfy chair and think I’m just going to read a chapter of this novel because I have nothing else to do, but it’s an ugly lie. At any given moment there are dishes to wash, or a floor to sweep, or a meal to prepare, or a bill to mail, or a text to answer, or a dog to feed, or stubborn red dirt to scrub out of the knees of baseball pants, or papers to grade, or…you get the picture. I have a hard time putting all that stuff on the sideboard of my life in order to sit here and peck away at the keyboard…as much as I’d like to.

3. I’m technically stupid.

Technologically. About technology. I’m stupid when it comes to technology. About ten years ago, when I first started blogging, I eventually had most of what I needed to know to run my blog figured out. Then I took that five year hiatus, and now I’m stupid. And guess what? I have no time (see #1) to try to figure things out. Everything is harder and newer, and I don’t know what a byte is or a plugin or periscope…, and yeah…I’m stupid, and I’m probably just going to stay that way and blog through my stupidity or give up trying.

4. I don’t know what I want to blog about.

I mean I do. I think I want to blog about too much. I want to blog about homeschooling, and family, and crafts, and home decor, and books, and faith, and… See? It’s overwhelming. I’ve never figured out if it is ok to blog about all of those things, or if I should just focus on one of those things, or if I should have like seven different blogs to blog separately about those things, or if I should just stop blogging and go feed my dog.

5. I feel ~~a little~~ ~~a lot~~ irrelevant.

I learned long ago that if you are blogging for others…the praise of others, the notice of others, the assurance of others…then you are going to be disappointed. Blogging…or any kind of writing for that matter…, at least at the very heart of the issue, has to be for yourself first. It may grow to fit around some kind of audience, but it has to grow from your heart, or it will lack authenticity. But yet, I still struggle with balancing that. If you’re blogging, you want someone to read it, but if it feels like no one is, then you start to question what in the world you’re doing…especially if your floor needs swept. Maybe you know people are reading, but no one is saying anything about it. No comments. No feedback. Again, you start to question what and why you’re doing it. Is it an outlet? Is it a job? Is it a hobby? Is it a duty? And then, you don’t know the answer, so you shut your laptop and go unload your dishwasher.

So, in a nutshell (key word: nut), that is why I haven’t been blogging. Does this post mean that I’m going to start blogging regularly? I don’t know. I’d like to. Honestly, I think about blogging a lot. I have a lot of ideas, but then… #1…and #4…and of course, #3.

I’m in a really busy season of my life. The daughter is getting married in June, and sometimes I like to pretend that things are going to go smoothly and that I’m not busy with the details of that. I also like to pretend that I’m still 22 years old and weigh 110 pounds. Neither fantasy is going really well. High school baseball season is starting in a week. We only have 427 games in a two month period. Not really, but every time I look at that schedule the page starts to blur, and I feel dizzy, and I think I smell Cracker Jacks. And then, of course, there’s everything else (see #1 and #2).

So, that’s that. Here’s a picture of me making a duck face and throwing a gang sign, because I’m awkward like that. And now, I have to go make a bed…or something.

chit-chat

mother-of-the-bride dresses (aka-“don’t look at my shoulders” sacks)

September 30, 2015 KellieAnn

I have mentioned before that I am to be the mother-of-the-bride next June. This fact has brought on many thoughts and emotions since my daughter’s engagement last March. Happiness, excitement, twinges of sadness, nostalgia…all of it. However, the one emotion that keeps rising, and I keep trying to keep at bay is panic. I’m not panicked over finances or the food or the guest list. I’m panicked over what I’m going to wear. Yes. There…I said it. I’m a self-absorbed woman, plagued with vanity. My only daughter is getting married, and I’ve spent more time looking at mother-of-the bride dresses than I have wedding gowns.

The thing is I think it’s fairly easy when you’re young and pretty and thin to find a wedding gown that is going to be beautiful. I am not worried one bit that we will find a perfect gown for my daughter that fits that description. But when you’re not young and have to work really hard to achieve something that’s not quite pretty, and not thin….well, it is harder.

And let me tell you something else… The manufacturers of said mother-of-the-bride dresses have not made the task any easier with some of the monstrosities that have shown up after a couple of Google searches. I just…I can’t…I can’t even… The cuts, the colors, the accessories, even the models they sometimes use are largely ridiculous. Before I started searching out and investigating these types of outfits, I had no idea of what I was supposed to wear. I’m guessing something that will sort of go with the color scheme of the wedding, and apparently I’m not supposed to wear beige. That is for the mother-of-the-groom. I’m not sure why. I didn’t write these rules.

Now that I’ve perused the internet a bit, I’ve also learned something else: no shoulders. Ever. I’m serious. A bride and all her maids can bear shoulder after shoulder after shoulder, but for the mothers it is the worst cardinal sin. I find this interesting because my shoulders are two of the least offensive body parts I own right now. I was sort of thinking that if I got to show my shoulders that maybe no one would look at my thighs or my ankles or my hair, which is bound to frizz that day. But no. Absolutely no shoulders.

Don’t believe me? Oh, I have proof of this shoulderless world of bride mothers…

SPECIMEN #1: YOU CAN LOOK AT THIS FITTED BLAZER, BUT DON’T YOU DARE PEEK AT MY SHOULDERS.

I mean all 5’2″ of me would look ridiculous in this number, with or without the extreme shoulder coverage, but still… I think they have even glued the collar to her neck, so you won’t get one little peek.

SPECIMEN #2: I SEE YOU TRYING TO LOOK AT MY SHOULDERS, SO I’M GOING TO DISTRACT YOU WITH A RUFFLE OR TWO…OR TWENTY

…and if the ruffles don’t work, the hideous flower pinned right by my cheek will surely make you forget that I have shoulders under this little bolero. Has anyone really worn a bolero since 1986? Anyone? Anyone?

SPECIMEN #3: YOU WILL NOT SEE MY SHOULDERS, EVEN IF IT MEANS MY LOOKING LIKE A TALL, THIN MUSHROOM.

Again, a short person like me really would look like a mushroom, but honestly…what were they thinking?! Obviously, that the shoulders of someone over forty are worse than forest fungi.

SPECIMEN #4: JUST FORGET MY SHOULDERS AND LOOK AT ALL OF THIS WONDERFUL, FLOWING GAUZE

If I were going to go to these lengths (no pun intended) to cover my shoulders, I’d probably just opt for a knit shawl. At least that would be a little funky and fun. This is like dressing in your drapes, but not in the super chic Scarlet O’Hara way. It’s more like my Great Aunt Maude way.

SPECIMEN # 5: YOU DON’T LIKE GAUZE ON MY SHOULDERS? ALL RIGHT, THEN HOW ABOUT STREAMING FROM MY WAIST?

I think it’s fair to say that someone would need to walk in front of me carrying a portable fan to achieve this look. Who needs flower girls?! I need a fan girl. And all of this to forget that I have shoulders….

SPECIMEN #6: STRIPES (BIG, FAT, BLUE ONES) ARE THE NEW SHOULDERS.

And on another note, are ALL mother-of-the-bride models six feet tall?

SPECIMEN #7: MY FAIR LADY HAT. BIG BLACK CORSAGE. OBNOXIOUS STATEMENT NECKLACE. POORLY PLACED LACE. WHAT SHOULDERS?

I’d almost wear something like this just for the laugh. Almost.

SPECIMEN # 8: THIS HAT WILL MAKE YOU FORGET THAT GOD EVER CREATED SHOULDERS.

No words. None.

SPECIMEN #9: PLEASE, LOOK AT MY CLEAVAGE INSTEAD OF MY SHOULDERS. PLEASE.

Or if the cleavage doesn’t interest you, you may choose the monochromatic bow just under my cleavage as your focal point. Your choice.

SPECIMEN #10: A LITTLE BIT OF LA…UH, WAIT A MINUTE…I THINK I MIGHT LIKE THIS ONE…

Yes. A different color combo, but this one actually has potential. I haven’t completely lost my faith in humanity or matronly dress designers. And guess what? You can kinda see her shoulders!

Disclaimer: The names of these specimen dresses are not real. If you’re actually interested in one of these dresses and apply the above titles to a Google search, the writer of this article will not be held responsible for what turns up in your feed.

chit-chat

so, my daughter is engaged to be married…

July 1, 2015 KellieAnn

I’m still not exactly sure how that happened.

Back when I first started blogging she looked like this…

Then I blinked or something, and she started to look more like this…

And this…

Then, when my back was turned, she morphed into this…

I was left scratching my head in bewilderment while she packed up her clothes and giant panda and moved onto her college campus.

And now this…

I remember almost as soon as she was born, during that sweltering September of 1996 in Charleston, SC, people warning me how quickly my time with her would go. As a brand new mother, I didn’t want to hear that. At only twenty-three years of age myself, I was overwhelmed with just the amount of dirty diapers she was producing. The idea of her someday walking down the aisle in a flouncy white dress seemed eons away. Well…it wasn’t. Because here we are.

Now I find myself wanting to stop that weary young mother in the aisle of Publix, who is frantically trying to stuff a paci in their squalling little one’s mouth so that they can make an intelligent decision about pasta brands. I want to grab her by her sagging shoulders and shake her a little and tell her that IT is true: your baby is going to grow up and meet someone and marry them and leave you.

Honestly, there were times when that might have encouraged me a little. Once when she was two and in the throes of potty training, she marched triumphantly into the kitchen where I was, hiked up her dress to reveal that she was wearing a Pull-up. “Where are your big girl panties?” I asked her. “I took them off because I had to poop,” she replied. If someone had appeared at that moment and told me that this defiant little creature was going to marry and move someday, I may have smiled a little.

Once, when she was five years-old, we were shopping at Wal-Mart. Her baby brother was needing a nap. I only had a few more items to track down and throw in the cart. Little Miss was being grumpy. And sassy. And smart-mouthed. I was trying to be patient and just finish the task, but I finally felt I needed to grab her arm, apply a bit of pressure, and explain to her in hushed tones that if she didn’t change her attitude that she’d be getting a little surprise when we got to the car. She looked at me calmly with her big, brown eyes and said, “If you don’t let go of my arm right now, I’m going to start screaming that you’re not my mother.” I did two things… 1. I informed her that I could prove in several different ways that I was most certainly her mother, so if she wanted to scream, go ahead. Also, she was still getting the surprise. 2. I made a mental note to tell her dad that she couldn’t watch “American’s Most Wanted” with him anymore, even if they are doing a segment on preparing your child for contact with a hostile stranger. At that moment, if someone had shared to hold on tight, that these years would fly by, I’m sure I would have shouted, “Well, hallelujah!”

Fast-forward a few years to the pre-teen angst and eye rolls and sarcasm and fights with siblings. Yeah, an empty room on some of those occasions would not have left me teary-eyed.

The thing is though that the good of having a daughter…of having my daughter…far, far outweighed the not-so-bad. We had a lot of laughter, a lot of singing, a lot of reading, a lot of ballet recitals, a lot of episodes of “Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman,” a lot of sleepovers, a lot of hair-dos, a lot of batches of cookies, a lot of fun and love and heart.

So, as I look back over the last eighteen years, I do, in many ways, wonder where the years went…as cliche’ as that might sound. Because it hasn’t seemed like enough time. I don’t feel ready to help her choose a wedding gown, when wasn’t it just yesterday that we were picking out prom gowns? I’m not equipped to help her pick out a pattern for her dishes, when it was just last week that I was reminding her to unload the dishwasher. I can’t watch her walk down the aisle of a church yet, because I still haven’t completely recovered from her talking back to me in that aisle of Wal-mart so many years ago. It’s too soon. I’m not ready. I want more of it. All of it.

But I can’t stop it. And actually, deep down, I don’t want to. Like almost all parents, we want our children to be happy. I want my daughter to pursue God’s will for her life, and His will has graciously included her marriage to a godly young man. I am happy about that, thankful for that.

So, in almost a year, I, the mother-of-the-bride, will stand up in the first row of a local church, wearing a dress that I probably hate and lamenting that my hair is too frizzy, and watch my amazing, lovely, sweet, dazzling little girl get married. My eyes will mist over. I will be thinking about the years I spent raising her and how they were difficult and confusing and short and wonderful. I will be praying that her marriage will someday result in something similar. And I won’t be able to help hoping in a small way that her little bundle is just as difficult to potty-train as she was.

Tag: weddings

an unneeded, pitiful explanation as to why i haven’t been blogging

mother-of-the-bride dresses (aka-“don’t look at my shoulders” sacks)

so, my daughter is engaged to be married…