My Refutation as it Concerns Coco

Before I start, I think you should all know that someone searched the term “I hate the letter w” and came up with my site.
I can’t say why exactly, but I’m a little proud.

I also want to bore you a spam comment I received. Someone left one about WANTING to get a heart attack. Apparently, my post on caramel apples seemed to really help them out.

What can I say? I’m here to help.

And now onto more important things: I read a quote a few days ago that affected me in several ways. First, I was ridden with substantial guilt. Then, I was confused. After that, I went into pondering, and I came out the other side amused and little furious.

The quote?
“A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous.” ~ Coco Chanel

On first reading, it seemed so breezy and cool -terribly attractive. Immediately, I looked down at my jeans and tee shirt and thought ‘What’s MY deal then? Am I not a girl? Am I “just” a housewife masquerading as a mom?’
I looked at my house. It was littered in yarn and toys and Christmas ornaments.
Was it classy? No. Fabulous? Gag me.

I walked around my house feeling like a huge let down to my husband. ‘He deserves someone classy and fabulous,’ I moaned to myself, ‘Someone thin with perfect posture and long, skinny fingers (as opposed to my stubby farm girl fingers, of course). He deserves a cleaner house, a wife who is up on the latest fashions, and home decor that REEKS of eucalyptus and perfection.’

That’s not what he has, mind you. But you already knew that.

Then I decided to try and imagine my life as a classy and fabulous woman. I laughed out loud -and I kid you not.
Then I imaged an entire WORLD full of nothing but classy and fabulous women and I laughed EVEN HARDER. Can’t you just picture it?

Not only madness but… cat fights. and back bites. and holy mother of all drama.

There’s something to be said for variety. Variety gets the short end of the stick when it comes to mentions. Classy, fabulous… they get more than their fair share of mentions. But variety? We don’t hear much about it. I’d like to change that. I THINK there should be great emphasis put on it! Variety is what keeps society moving! It’s what makes one GREAT MASS BALL of wonderful out of a billion individual souls!

Some of those souls are classy and fabulous, yes. And thank goodness. But some of those souls are also dirty because they’ve spent the day in their garden. Others are in their pajamas and haven’t showered in four days because they’re raising four tiny Future Doctors/Teachers/Cops/Mine Workers that have been passing around the flu. A few of the souls are extra special souls that don’t quite have the “fabulous” or “classy” make of body or mind. A few are depressed. A few are so frackin’ filled with joy that they’re busting out at the seams and making so much racket that no one dares label them “classy” (though I’d consider them very much to be fabulous). Some are in wheel chairs. Some are in rocking chairs. Some are in computer chairs. Some are wrapped up in a blanket in the window with their hair unkempt because they’d rather watch birds than take a shower.

And you know what?
THAT is perfect. THAT is what we need. Women in rocking chairs NEED women that are in computer chairs. Depressed women generally benefit from women in rocking chairs. Young mothers benefit from the “classy and fabulous” women that they certainly can’t be everyday. And I guarantee that classy and fabulous women need scads of help! It takes energy, time, and MONEY to be classy and fabulous!

If we were all investing our existence into being fabulous, we’d sure miss out on… everything.

Whilst pondering, I thought back on the days where I DID feel classy and fabulous, and they were rather unremarkable (the day I got dressed up to go on a date with my husband. Prom night #1. Prom night #2… and that about does it). But the days I felt alive? The days that are etched into my burning soul for all eternity?
I was holding a freshly born baby on my chest.
I was watching two physically filthy toddlers sleep on my cluttered living room floor.
I was holding a positive pregnancy test.
I was holding a college degree.
I was holding hands with my soon-to-be husband for the VERY first time.
I was meeting my goal.
I was teaching.
I was dripping in sweat and peach juice, but the box of peaches… was FINALLY empty!

And so I say to you, women in the world, a girl should be two things: happy and very much herself.

If classy and fabulous is your aim in life, best of luck. You’ve certainly out-done me. However, contact me if you need any mopping done. I’m rather a whiz at it despite the current state of my kitchen floor.

Now, if you’ll pardon me… I’ve got to muck out my kitchen, my son’s diaper, and my brain.
How’s that for class-say?

The Tree is Up

We put our tree up.  It’s fake.  I love it.

That’s the the short version of what happened.

Want The Alicia version of what happened?  Read on if you do/dare:

I’ve always wanted a pre-lit FAKE tree.  Last year, my husband bought me one.  Before last year, we had been using a three foot tree that was shabby.  And not “shabby chic” shabby.  Just plain SHABBY.  When we went and bought a new full-size tree last year, I was jumping for joy.  The only downside?  My kids could unplug it, grab the cord and run circles around the tree and it would spin with them.

While my best friend was visiting during the holidays, I actually had to speak the words, “HEY!  STOP SPINNING THE TREE!”

It’s moments like those that make you slap your own forehead, and then afterward you realize your palm was covered in peanut butter or jello or playdough and you now have a nasty print on your forehead.  It feels about as good as stomping your foot in frustration, only to have it land in dog poo.

This year, the kids have forgotten about the spinning thing (knock on wood), and they had so much fun getting ornaments from me.  I have a few that coordinate and a few collected from the years over.  There’s the fake glass ship we bought on our Honeymoon while touring four historic ship in a harbor in San Diego (one of the ships was used in the filming of Master and Commander.  I nearly peed myself in excitement.  Nearly).

There’s the blue jingle bell that says “Baby’s First Christmas” and the pink jingle bell that says “Baby’s First Christmas.”  There’s the one made out of baked clay (or something): two teddy bears dressed as a bride and groom holding a cake between them that says “our first Christmas 2004.”

While we put the tree up, I put on some Christmas music that was eventually sacrificed in the name of the Suns game. My little brother came over with a box of green apples and a smile.  I busted out the popsicle sticks (jumbo), caramel, and white chocolate and we started making caramel apples.  While they cooled after the first dipping, we finished putting up Christmas decorations and I made some hot chocolate for everyone including my cousin, Jason, who had come to help with the apples (with the simple stipulation: I help, I eat.  Period. And he helped and then did eat).

While the Suns battled against the refs (according to my husband “It’s like 5 against 7 out there!” and “It’s hard enough playing against five guys, but we’re playing 5 guys and TWO ZEBRAS!”), I pulled my husband under the mistletoe to break it in.  My kids weren’t fazed, but my brother and cousin? Thoroughly disgusted.

Tree Spinner #1:

Tree Spinner #2:

So we put up our tree.
It’s fake.
I love it.