Life on the hill: March 2012

Monday, March 26, 2012

Chameleon

I was looking in my wardrobe the other day, and I’ve decided I’m a chameleon. I like to change my skin.... Well not my literal skin... That would be just weird. But the skin I dress in to go out into the world.

I don’t have a “signature look”. I have many. If I’m going somewhere, I will consciously ask myself, what look do I want to portray today? If I’m honest, my mood affects what clothes, or look, I will choose. Sometimes I like to be a little bit hippy bo-ho, and will wear long silk wrap around skirts, with cotton kaftans, and scarves in my hair. Other days, I want to be business chic, all trendy and neat lines. There are days when I can't give a flying hoot what's on my body, clothe, face or hair wise, and you take me as I am. Good chance I haven't looked in the mirror, other then a passing have-i-got-toothpaste-on-my-face-look.

I'm as vain as the next person, currently cursing the humidity because I would like to straighten my hair instead of sporting the Shirley temple look.. roll on cooler days!! But I'm not a slave to fashion. If I see something I like, and won't end up looking like a 42 year old woman attempting to dress in her daughters wardrobe, then I will purchase something that is on trend.

Am I the only one? Do you have a “signature look”? Or do you throw on the first thing that you pick up?

everything old becomes "new" again

Everything old becomes new again, or so it seems. From fashion to television and movies.

The latest Australian show to be recycled is Young Talent Time. I know people who have watched it, and report that it’s great. The ads that I’ve seen, it looks polished, professional and a great vehicle for young people to dance and sing, and do what they love. I haven’t watched it. I can’t.

I know it will probably seem strange, but for me it’s a trigger. A billion years ago when I was nine, I went to the Young Talent Time School. It was a dance and singing school, full of kids all wanting to be stars. It wasn’t something I wanted to do. It was something I was sent to. By the man who is my father. He was an entertainer. And he wanted his girls to follow suit, so they could perform with him.

Now my sister, four years younger than me, was a gorgeous little thing. Vivacious, with big blue eyes, and lips so red that even at five people always thought she had lipstick on, and long brunette hair. She took to it like a fish to water. She wanted to be a star. Me, on the other hand, at nine, was an extremely skinny, freckly, knobbly kneed, glasses wearing, awkward looking…nerd. Who wanted to disappear.

There were lots of “stars in the making”, beautiful little beings who could hold a note and jazz hands like no tomorrow. And all of these potential stars had mothers who primped and puffed and paraded. Then there was my mum, who constantly had the “deer-caught-in-the-headlights” look. She hated it as much as I did.

It will probably seem odd that I find going to a singing and dance school such an unpleasant experience. I don’t think I will be watching the new Young Talent Time. It hurts too much. The nine year old inside of me physically cringes and withdraws every time the ad comes on. It reminds her too much of what else was going on in her young world at the same time that made her want to disappear. Triggers are funny like that.

Kermit

I have an admirer – or a stalker. I haven’t yet decided.

He’s seen me naked in the shower,

seen parts of me that will remain nameless,

and has woken me up with a thump.

Apparently it really isn’t easy being green.

People say I should kiss him, and see if he turns into a prince. But I already have my prince. Don’t need another.

I took extreme measures the other night, when yet again, Aston alerted me to the fact that Kermit was breast stroking in my toilet. I wet my hands, and picked him out of the toilet (yeh, I know, revolting. Don’t worry, I disinfected my hands afterwards!) and, instead of putting him outside my bedroom into the back yard, which is what I have done in the past, I re-located him to a tree (he IS a tree frog after all!!) in the front yard. Less than half an hour later we found him, outside my bedroom sliding door. In the back yard.

So, yeh, maybe I have decided. He’s a stalker. A green stalker.

Gratitude

Recently while I was having a little melt down about the money tree being bare, my perspective was surprisingly and pleasantly changed by someone that I least expected.

It was dinner time and I proceeded to put down our gourmet dinner of sausages, home-made chips and salad in front of my 13 year old son Nathan, with the comment, “here’s another poor peoples dinner.”

He said, “Are we poor mum? I don’t think we’re poor. I think we are really rich. I mean not everyone has a computer, a lap top, an ipad, a PlayStation 3, a Wii, an iPod, a smart phone… I mean, I know the Internet isn’t working at the moment, and the TV is broken, but we are getting another one, and the Internet will get fixed… I think we’re rich.” And proceeded to tuck into dinner with gusto as only an ever growing 13 year old teenage boy can!

I was very humbled to say the least. And extremely proud. It seems my lessons on gratitude have sunk in… Even though for that moment, they had slipped past me, I’m incredibly grateful that I had someone to remind me.

Ode to Nikki

Nikki from Styling you is my styling guru. Like me, she is in her 40’s, has both teenagers, and a young child. Because of that, I appreciate her styling advice. Just because she’s a mum doesn’t mean she wants to run around in trackie dacks, looking like something the cat dragged in. Neither do I.

She has suggested many beautiful designers, Sacha Drake, Verily, Metalicus to name a few….. Most of which I could only afford in another lifetime (the pre-children-working -fulltime life). She also has introduced me to some labels that are both budget and style conscious, like Big W’s Emerson label, and ColesMix. I love looking at her style tips, because it gives me a point of departure. It gives me ideas. And quite often I can come up with something similar without breaking my extremely tight budget.

Nikki has called me the bargain hunter queen. A title I wear with pride. Since reading about Emerson on her blog I have purchased 12 different pieces of it, from coloured skinny leg jeans, to half-the-original-price maxi dress and white shirt, (told you, I’m the bargain hunter queen!!), to their everyday bargain price $5 ribbed cotton tees.

So to you Nikki, I say an extremely big thank you. I can still be fashionable at 42, and not embarrass my 16 year old daughter. Well at least not by what I’m wearing anyway....

365 days

365 days, 52 weeks, 12 months, 1 year…. That’s how long I have known M, how long he has been in my world. He has become a part of my family. A very big part.

M and I recently celebrated an anniversary. Our first. *cue hearts and love songs*

We went to Mooloolaba for the weekend and had such a wonderful time.