Tag Archives: style

What really happens when the shades go down.


I have a confession.

I own this now.  It belongs to me.

 The suit

Hello, suburban soccer mom warm-up suit.

BUT KERI – what about thisAre you giving in to this?   What about that “I will not be assimilated” stuff?

Didn’t take long for all that to go out the window did it?  How is the minivan shopping going, Ker?

NO NO – but wait!!

I didn’t pick it – I swear!!  I CAN EXPLAIN!

It involves Corporate Keri, and participation, and cuddly 80’s cartoon characters.

No Really.

Each year the office has a blow out Halloween Costume Contest, with different groups and teams interpreting a theme and going all out – costumes, pumpkin decorating, and even (oh yes it’s true,) cube/office decorating.  This year we decided to really go for it – opting for a furry group of cartoon characters from our youth – who shall remain nameless until Halloween because we are THAT crazy serious about the competition.

The next thing I know I am at the Kohls (which is pretty suburban mom of me too, BTW,) in front of a  giant display of semi-fuzzy velourish sweat suits in every conceivable color, making my selection. (What’s that?  You say “velourish” is not a word? That has never stopped me before.) Of course, Black and Grey were the two selections I was drawn to, but alas, these options had no coordinating fluffy characters in the cartoon land to which we are paying our homage.  Unable to stomach the idea of full-body royal purple, or the baby-est of blues, I settled on a light tan that worked well for one of the characters. I  plunked down my debit card (do I have any “Kohl’s Cash”? Um… no,) and left the store with a plastic bag hiding my purchase.

Here is where it gets truly shameful.  While The Mr. was upstairs reading Ten in the Bed for the eleventy billionth time with Jr, I decided to try the situation on “just to see.”  As soon as I zipped that fuzzy jacket up under my neck, a strange and powerful sensation washed over me.  I felt warm, and relaxed. I sunk onto the sofa and stretched my legs out in front of me.  The fireplace toasted my velour suit as I curled into its generously proportioned comfort.

Mmmmm. Cozy.

I was asleep in two minutes.

Uh oh.  The Mom suit has magical powers.  It soothes and swaddles and calms.  It warms the limbs, and the soul.


In the days since that first encounter, the pull of the suit’s siren song is strong.  I feel it, luring me after long days on endless conference calls, enticing me as I brace against the fall chill to get home.

Twice more I have given in. The rewards it promises have not gone unfulfilled.

I can’t quit the Mom suit.

Don’t misunderstand me – you aren’t going to bump into me squeezing Asian Pears at the grocery store wearing it or anything.  Hell no.


The idea of wearing it, on purpose and with good reason, to the office all day on Halloween excites me.

For the rest of the year?  After a long day fighting the “have it all” working mom fight – I might just pour a big glass of wine, close the blinds, and give in to the power of the suit.


Filed under musing

A hairy situation

I can’t say I was in love with my stylist in the city.  If I had been, then I would have stayed on with her and commuted – I have always wanted to be one of those women who is all, Sandy-from-Grease “totally devoted to you” about her hair person.

But I was firmly in the “meh” camp about the whole thing:  the cut was always fine, the color was always fine, the price was not horrifying (and that is important if the results are just “fine.”)   So I kept going back.

It was just like every other urban relationship I had – I could put up with some hassle and some mediocrity if the location was walking distance, (or at least had good parking prospects.)  God knows how many minor-ish annoyances I blew past in the early dating days with The Mr. using the internal argument “But he lives just a few blocks away!”

And that’s the thing.  The hair stylist was good, but she was only “walking distance good.”  Probably not even “out of the neighborhood trip” good, and DAMN sure not “commute worthy.”  So I planned to just find someone out here through recommendations as we got settled.

It turns out that Stylist Ambivalence runs rampant in the ‘burbs.

Well, poo.

I do have one friend who LOVES hers – but the stylist splits her time between Texas and here, and I am a last-minute appointment maker, so that “I’ll be in the salon during the 2nd week of next month” kind of sitch is a non-starter.  It can only lead to sneaking around with other stylists on the DL while she is out-of-town, and an eventual slow, fade-away kind of break up sure to leave me sniffing around mall salons thinking “just this once can’t hurt, right?” WRONG!

What’s a girl to do?

I can’t lie, there’ve been some bang-trimming incidents in the master bathroom, (I’m not too bad with that, actually,) and some mildly demeaning Groupon/Living Social whoring around too.  But I swore off the internet blind dating version of stylist hunting after a snafu involving a set of Taylor Swift bangs that were nothing any 36 year old er, over mid-twenty-something woman should ever attempt.  Ever, Ever, Ever. Like, Ever.

I’m so desperate I have taken to random stalker attacks in public places, but they don’t end well either.   (Sorry, supermarket cheese counter lady, I thought it would be complementary to say I liked your cut – NOT an opening for a rant about how “cheap your boyfriend is about stuff like that.”  Also, I just don’t need any cheese for a while.  I swear that is totally the only reason I run past you now.  Swear.)

So my hair gets funkier every day.

Come to think of it – maybe that is what is up with all the moms in baseball caps with pony tails up here. Hmm.


Filed under musing