Call me juvenile. Call me immature, call me the girl with the peter pan complex, heck, call me mom if you want, everyone else in this house does, either way, there is no running from what what I am currently suffering from.
I call it Forever 27. Slighty sloganized from the extremely cute, yet not very well made clothing and accessories store, Forever 21. I will not confirm nor deny shopping at such a place, but let's just say I have a friend, who has a friend, who knows this guy, who's girlfriend shops there. And occasionally, the things she buys, fall apart. Like the hand bag she chose to sport tonight on her million mile march through the golden gates of one awesome establishment, known as Golden Corral. It was there this friend of a friends purse, decided to give way under the 23 pounds of opposed gravital pull, AKA, CRAP, inside said bag. She was carrying the "bag", and not one, but 2 children, both of whom are more than capable of walking, but know that when I'm wearing the really cute boots, the friend of a friend may have also purchased at this store, I lose all sense of balance.
So there's me. And 4 kids. And approx. 1034 other military veterans waiting in line for our "free" calorie laden buffet, and the bag, which I will from here on out refer to as, the assailant, falls onto the ground. Revealing the contents, of one woman, who not only needs a purse intervention, but perhaps a coinstar. Included in this droppage, were the following, highly sensitive and classified items:
1.Tampons. LOTS. And LOTS. of tampons. I belive I bought the largest box they had at the gas station, and decided that "you just never know", I might need them. All 36 of them. In the next 24 hours.
2. 1 iPhone. Which at the exact moment of the release of the tampons, decided to ring, playing yet another evidentiary proponent of my refusal to grow up. My theme song. Britney spears. Piece of me. (Let it be known to be said, after seeing all the goodies I own laid out in such a crude manor, NOBODY will be wanting a piece of me.
3. 1 bottle of Alli. As if the fact I had the entire pack of tampons in my bag wasn't back enough, I have now given the crown reason to belive that I might be suffering from severe anal leakage. I mean not to offend, but let's face it, the first thing they thought was, " I wonder if she's having "THOSE" side effects?
4. Diapers.Oh yes. See because not only do I have a 1 year old, who loves to play in the toilet, rather than use it, I have a 3 year old, still deathly afraid of SITTING on the thing, let alone using it for it's intended purposes. Diapers are a must in a bag such as this.
5. 1 bottle of Acai Berry. Oh yeah squared. Sign number 2 I'm the fat girl trying to lose weight, while standing in line for the worlds largest buffet.
5. Approx. $134.54, in pennies. I actually had to stop the children from collecting all of them, once the veteran bus arrived, and the nice men begin to turn against the small ones for reaching between their legs in attempts to gather the useless pennies, we called it quits. Times are tough people. Change is a good thing. At least the kind that comes in silver and bronze, but even I have my limits.
6. One pair of cutterbee scissors. The last sign that a scrapbooker once dwelled within my sphere, and that my children have far too many hair brained schemes that involve the stealing of one such pointy pair of scissors, and the attempted smuggle of them into first grade. Apparently the ones in his class are "not sharp enough" to create the cuts needed to make the transformer snow flake he so desired in art class. I'm just glad this isn't the same teacher who was forced to view the "towel" from last years outrageously embarrassing debacle. Small tender mercies.
7. 3 sticks of deodorant. count em. 3. The girl with the leakage, apparently has a severe sweat gland issue as well. I cannot even begin to explain how 3 sticks ended up in my purse. I only know that from now on, I will apply my sweat soaker, BEFORE leaving my house.
8. a razor. As if the rest of the bathroom in my large bag wasn't more than enough, I had to have a razor too. Heaven knows those people are running for the door by now.
9. 2 bottles of perfume. I'm officially looking for a place to hide with all the odor fighting items in my bag. There are some who have probably taken this time to assume these are for the aforementioned Alli, and the side effects it may be having.
I would go on, but the novel which would surely result from the rest of the stuff that was blocking the entrance to the veteran salutationm would bore most.
I only offer this up to you, to let you see why it is I am forever 27. As I was picking through this debris, and trying not to cry, it became apparent, that Forever 21, is not for me. Not that they don't have cute stuff, not that I couldn't tease my hair, and pretend to be 21 for another few days, but Forever 21 has proven that they don't have what it takes. A woman with a purse load such as mine, requires a bag that holds far more than just a cell phone, and some lip gloss for the days events.
It was a wake-up call. Just the kind I needed. I've been through the lowest of lows this past year, I haven't shared most of it with anyone that reads this cobweb covered hootinanny, but it sucked. There are no other words. Suckfest. Right here.
Through it all, the only thing I could count on were my kids. MY kids. These beautiful little kids, who have never once doubted me. In all my shenanigans, in all my attempts to thwart lifes trials with cuteness in the form of matching shoes and tops, THEY loved me. For who I am.
And what exactly am I?
I am 27. I am not old. I am not perfect. I am not a role model for mothers everywhere. I am not a perfect representation of anything. I am out of proportion, I am confusing at times. I have faults. Thousands of them. I don't have all the answers. and I probably never will.
And that is ok. Who knew? Well I didn't. But I do now. I even made a page about it. I call it, lost and found. The journaling reads:Lost: 1 girl. Brown hair. No clue what she wants. Last seen, on the verge. SIze 12, Answers to Ruth. Found: 1 woman, Streaked hair, Still no clue what she wants, getting much closer though. On the verge, but of bigger things. Size 10, hopefully dropping. Answers to: Nobody.
I also created a few other pages in my desire to break free from the chains of social reclusiveness...
It didn't work.
But I did manage to use some cute pictures I had been dying to see on a page. And my dearest Chittyarie, (so dubbed by hers truly) is a feature on both. So cute, that one.
All in all, my day was a bust. I am still 27. I Am still fat. And I still have no desire to ever turn 28. But I do know that being 21 isn't going to fix anything. Not even the strap on my adorable brown bag. I have surrended the mini-van back to the enterprise powers that be, in exchange for a truck, as the van rendered me unable to get to my mountain dwelling, and ended up in a head on collision with a volvo. Who knew soccer mom cars could be so fiesty? So yeah. Life still rocks.
Nothing changes. But I am doing better. I am figuring out where to go from here. And I am making the necessary decisions to be that girl who is happy. Whether she is 21. Or 83. (Mark my words, I will live to be at least 83). At least I will if I can kick the diet coke habit. One thing at a time. That's my motto. I leave you with a photo. A photo of me. turning my back to the days of childish self indulgences, and chocolate bars, and looking to what lies ahead. Whatever that may be.
I'm ready.