So that the kids' computer can be in the kitchen, and the kids can be permanently banned from the office, where they like to pretend they are an 80's hair band in a three-star hotel room.
(They ransack it, almost daily. Just spelling it out for you, in case my hair band metaphor wasn't super clear.)
Anyhow, so far I find the office rather uninspiring. Which could be why I haven't posted anything new in two weeks. But it could also be cause I've been gallivanting about Arizona (Payson, then Flagstaff). And I'm trying to talk the family into a trip to Mt. Graham next week. My kids have never hiked ladybug saddle, which seems a shame. Plus, Phoenix is supposed to be 113 degrees this weekend, so why stay here?
The office is not only uninspiring, but uncomfortable. Jake gave me the cruddy wooden chair, and he got the leather one. At least I got a window seat.
I think they say that if you can't think of anything interesting to say, you should type lots of other stuff.
Til you have to pee,
or you develop carpal tunnel,
or your backside goes numb cause your chair is horrible, hard, and spindly,
or you remember those generic twinkies you hid in your purse. Which is in another room.
(Don't ask.)
This morning, I asked the kids: So, who wants to go to Target and get some yoga pants?
(Also, don't ask why my current yoga pants have grease stains the shape of In-n-Out fries on them. Let's just pretend the old yoga pants are worn clean out from rigorous and zealous yoga use, and have been stretched beyond their cottony-spandex limits by my constant and crazy bendiness.)
Tom replied: No, momma. I do not want yogurt pants.
Do you have a certain place you feel creative?
Do you fervently believe that yoga pants are a 21st century version of the 1950s housecoat? Because they are awesome, and you can keep a rolled up yoga mat by the front door in case the UPS guy comes, and you can throw it under one arm before you answer the door? So he'll think you are very fit, and not slovenly?
I don't actually do this. I don't have a yoga mat.
What do you wear around your casa?
Muu muus?
Hair in rollers with a kerchief?
Manolo Blahniks?
16 comments:
that reminds me i need new yoga pants.
Gauchos. Very, very comfy. And almost, kind of look dressy if you squint hard enough. . .
I wish I were thin enough to wear yogurt pants. I currently reside in my pre and post pregnancy attire of cut off scrubs and old Girl's Camp t-shirts. My favorite accessory to answer the door is a crying baby/toddler, which also disguises the fact that I am not wearing a bra.
scrubs...oh so comfy!!
I usually wear cotton draw string shorts from Target/Walmart and a t-shirt. Dressing up for me these days is wearing flip flops. Bra is totally optional at this point (and I do the same trick of holding the small child to disguise that if someone comes to the door). But perhaps a pair of yogurt pants would be nice, but not until it's less than 1 billion degrees outside.
Yoga pants are definitely my mumu. I have pairs draped in the bathroom and the office in case of unexpected visitors or a housefire in the middle of the night (because I walk around in not quite enough). I rarely even wear a bra around the house, and if I do, it is an eight year old nursing model. Oh, yeah. When did not wearing a bra to answer the door become a not okay thing? They're just babyfeeders people! Let 'em hang proud!
Boy-if I had a muu muu that is what I would wear. Not just at my house...but everywhere. Those things are never not comfortable.
Yogurt pants sound like they could be fun, though...
You guys are totally full of great ideas. I might need to get some scrubs. And I am aways looking for ways to cover up bralessness.
And shireen, the yoga pants ARE the summer version. Winter uniform includes old juicy sweats, which get traded for newish juicy sweats if I go out on the town.
And barbaloot, I saw somebody in a muu muu the other day (Enrichment night had theme of "8 cow woman"), and I coveted that thing. WHere can I get one of those outside of Hawaii? Unfortunately, I have no immediate travel plans.
I usually walk around naked all day; while waiting for the UPS guy. or the Fed Ex guy. Whoever. I save the yoga pants for special occasions.
TMI?
La Yen bought be a muu muu three years ago. I don't wear it nearly as much as I should.
I often wear a knit black BR skirt with a ruffle from eight years ago. It looks put together, but it's not not not.
Rachel Sue and I are on the same wave-length -- gauchos. I'm wearing them right now. They are one of the many reasons I hate winter -- no gauchos.
Eddie Bauer vashion-style long shorts (though on you, they would seem considerably shorter.) It's my uniform.
And my new favorite thing . . . scandalous . . . tank tops with shelf bras and (get this) NO BRA. I know . . . it's not that big a deal, considering that 'they' are not that big a deal . . . but for me, totally liberating. Just discovered it. Must purchase more.
And now I want yogurt pants, too.
I wear a spaghetti strap sundress with no bra and no shirt. Just my cute, um...foundation garments. Can't ever answer the door dressed like that so it doesn't matter if the UPS man comes or not. Perhaps I should think about yoga pants.
Well, the FedEx man caught me today in canvas ballet flats, my Got Bananas? Monkey adorned cotton capri (ok, pajama) pants and a black tank top. Of course, no bra, because I only wear them for the opera. If I had heard him drive up, I would have grabbed the baseball cap to hide the less than stellar arrangement of hair.
No matter about the baseball cap, because my five year old daughter was barking at him as she crouched by the front door on all fours in only her panties. Don't think he even noticed my hair.
Gonna have to give that yoga mat thing a try.
Manolo Blahniks. Def. (Did I spell it right? The label is always under my foot where it is highly unaccessible . . .)
Wow, thanks for the great idea to make the UPS guy think I'm not a lazy slob. I'm an ER nurse so scrubs make me look like I just got home from work, even though they are grass stained from being in the yard.
Love your blog! Cracks me up.
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