We spent Mother’s Day weekend in Yakima this year as it fell on the weekend a “Celebration of Life” was held for my uncle who passed in December.
We took it upon ourselves to stay for the rest of the weekend to spend some time with grandparents and cousins. We ate lots of cookies and pizza, we slipped and slided and blew bubbles in the 90+ degree weather, and we even attended one of Ashtyn’s basketball games.
On Friday and Saturday night Scott and I left the kids with the grandparents for a few hours and sampled local IPAs at Bert’s Pub.
That left us spending most of Mother’s Day in the car traveling back home. On the way, we stopped at Costco and picked up some white bath and hand towels that I’ve been pining over for years (Guess the Mr. could no longer say no on my special day. I need to remember that next year.) and an ice cream maker for the kids. We also took the only photo of me on Mother’s Day with my kids.
Then Monday, Scott surprised me by taking a day off from work so that I could go out on my own and do whatever I wanted. I had wanted to get my hair cut but was unable to secure a last minute appointment so, instead, I found myself cruising the mall in search of an outfit for a wedding we are to attend at the end of the month.
Unfortunately, my search was in vain and I failed miserably.
I tried the Gap, Old Navy, Forever 21, and REI and found nothing that was suitable for a casual summer wedding nor anything else for that matter that I would ever consider adding to sparse closet. I’m appalled at the horror that is clothing for women aged somewhere between tween and death. I like my knees covered, my chest without any branding or other slogans on it, thankyouverymuch, and — damn it — my armpits do not come to the middle of my ribcage so please adjust your patterns so I can lift my arms above my head without showing off my stomach.
This most recent shopping experience, however, did bring about a personal revelation that I hope I will remember next time and pass on to my kids. For once, I realized that it was not my body that was at fault for these clothes not fitting properly. This time, I realized that my body is what it is and it’s the fault of the clothes for not fitting me — not the other way around. If an item of clothing can’t fit my body in whatever size and shape it is in at that moment, then that item of clothing is in no way deserving of my body.
Frankly, it was quite a profound moment. For a dressing room, anyways.
I left the mall empty handed. But with my head held high. Later, I found several dresses at a discount store that I’m going to try my hand at hacking to fit me, perfectly.
Happy Mother’s Day.