onetiredmama: GlamaMama

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When I was in high school, I imagined my grown up life would be much more glamorous than it really is. I thought I'd have a closet full of long gowns for all the formal parties I'd be invited to -- if I wasn't busy pulling out the china and crystal for swanky dinner parties.

I do have a few fancy dresses and a cabinet full of never-used crystal, but my life involves alot more dirt and alot less dazzle than I envisioned. I thought when I grew up, I'd enter this new adult world and leave my little girl self behind; like stepping out of a cotton dress that no longer fit me, ready to be sized up for a satin gown. But I can trace a thread in my soul back to that teenage girl and realize I'm very much the same person -- one who's still not wearing a fancy party dress. I'm not the grown up glamour queen I assumed most people grew up to be.

My weekends involve more stretchy fabric than sequins. In fact, this adult life of mine is so low-key on the weekends, my kids get all nervous if they see me putting on makeup. "Where are you going mommy?" they'll ask as they barge into the bathroom. Usually, I'm not headed anywhere fancy. Most of my spare time is spent around the house or in the yard. Rarely do Pat and I go out solo, and if we do, Bob Evans is often our destination.

I think my Grandmother is responsible for my vision of this fictional grown up glamorous life. Hers was rather glamorous. She and my grandfather went out every Saturday night, long before relationship therapists announced alone time like that was crucial for happy marriages. Back in the 40's and 50's when they were whooping it up on Saturday nights, they belonged to a number of social clubs: The Elks, The Masons, The Shriners, etc. And these groups often had dinner dances where you got dressed up to the nines. She got a new dress for each occasion. My grandparents even went on a 28-day cruise where she needed to bring a different gown for each night! And she was pulling out her china cups for her daily tea until the day she died (just a few months ago). She lived in an era with more customs and formality than the casual "anything goes" world we inhabit.

But this past weekend, I got the chance to release my inner diva. Our local hospital was hosting a gala dinner and I was honored to be the mistress of ceremonies. This was a glitzy black tie affair, so I hit the local stores in search of the perfect dress. Apparently, I am the only woman in America who does not love the look of her upper arms being dissected by spaghetti straps; only four out of the 856 (approximately) dresses I looked at had any sort of sleeve. (Seriously, we women should be up in arms, over the lack of coverage for our arms!) I'll spare you the drama of the dressing room. I'm not sure my health insurance would cover the therapy needed for post traumatic shopping disorder if I relieved that horror show for you. But I did find three dresses, plus one from my closet to choose from. So after selecting just the right one, and having it altered, my mother insists on a fashion show so she can see them all on me. She demands I wear the black one that I did not spend $30 to have tailored. But paired up with some vintage rhinestone jewelery my grandmother wore to her soirees, some cinderella heels and a wrap...I finally felt like the dream queen I always imagined I'd be. Yesterday: onetiredmama. Today: oneglamamama.