Not a post about high school, old make-up, and stay at home mom vintage outfits.

When I choose to wear make-up, which isn't all that often...although increasing rapidly ever since I turned 30. Back to the beginning of that sentence: When I choose to wear make-up, the tubes and cases I stroke my brushes against were purchased 8 years ago when shopping for make-up for my wedding. 8 year old make-up. What does this say about me? Or when I choose my clothes, I put on shirt after shirt that's just too short and very out of style looking. It seems to be fashionable right now, your shirt must be long. The only long shirts I own are maternity and they are not fashionable, unless you are indeed pregnant. And the pants I put on; I'm not sure they're fashionable either. So I continue and grab the longest shirt I can find, usually cotton and solid color, a pair of pants and then shoes. I do have lots of shoes. I usually choose my red Simple ones because they help in making any outfit slightly hip or at least perhaps a vintage feel, I shall say. Yes, vintage. Vintage can only go along with my out of date shortened shirt and 8 year old make-up.

Have I told you I was Homecoming Queen? Yes.

You know those passed down stories of the girl in high school, the cheerleader, the blond, the mean one, the homecoming queen...who then grows older, uglier and out of style. Some days I feel like her except I'm not blond and was never mean. Of course not. I was kind to all. Really. I have high school friends who are readers, they will vouge for me.

But indeed, I am not in style nor trendy. It is true. Come to think of it though, I was not in style nor trendy in high school...just somehow a complete surprise to me (still) elected Homecoming queen. But this is not a post about high school, old make-up, and stay at home mom vintage outfits.

I'm writing about that feeling that life keeps moving. I don't wear make-up because it feels gunky on my skin. I do have days where I long for better clothes because then just maybe I can appear more hip than I actually am and maybe people will actually notice me instead of just stare at my children hanging off me. But really, I digress. The passerby who is unimpressed by my short shirt is obviously not someone worth my time. Just time wasted.

Any choice made in hopes of preserving my past life, while living my present one, merely just creates an empty future. We see it all over. All over our culture. I can't help but think of many of the most famous current Hollywood women, most who are over 40 but have the bodies of 15 year olds. Have you noticed? Check one out next time in the grocery aisle, cover up her head and observe the body. This is not beautiful. It's sad. It's empty. The hours wasted in preserving the past. I would much prefer my widened hips, tired eyes, thinned hair, old make-up, and worn out clothes over a preserved empty shell. It's empty. There are no stories. No heart.

Time keeps moving.

See my cheeks. They are starting to wrinkle just a bit from smiling at my boys, laughing with my husband, and sleeping too little while caring for babies. See my hips. They are wider than they used to be. I've experienced life brought into the world. See my wardrobe. It's worn. It's been cried on, spit on, bled on, snotted on, hugged on, and probably even urinated on. See my hands. They're dry. See my house. It's cozy, used, messy, and contains proof of life. That's what I want: proof of life. Not preservation of it. It's impossible. Life keeps moving. I will go with it, run with it in my red vintage shoes.


  1. Since I am over 50, I appreciate this post more than you know. There are few of your generation who think like you, You are right on and don't change those thoughts!

  2. Amen :) I am with you exactly!!


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