simple style...and a jazzy ride down memory lane

 shoes: cato brand. shorts: banana republic. shirt: j.crew. necklace: forever21. watch: citizen brand. pin: don't recall.

I play the piano. Did any of you know that? I used to be quite good. Not to brag [Editor's note: A preface which is unfailingly, 100%, and always followed by a statement of boast.], but I really was talented back in my teens. Won a few medals, one of which was of a golden hue.

Convinced? No? Dah well. Regardless, I had a few minutes to myself this afternoon and spent them running through some of my old music books on the piano.

(Sure, I had laundry and dishes and grocery shopping and cleaning and a zillion other things I should've been doing. But sometimes a girl feels like being rebellious. My internal rebel just happens to pound out classical music. A sohpisticated rule-breaker. Like how I envision Ms. Zeta-Jones to be.) (Because there are soooo many things she and I have in common...)

*ahem* ANYway. My piano teacher would always write the date I started learning songs at the top of the music page. I died today when I noticed one of them, on a very technical and challenging piece, was 1994. That, my dears, is SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO.

I still think I'm like 18 years old, so you can understand my jaw-dropping flabbergastic...ness. So. Be kind to this old woman. I'll probably be that lady going 18 MPH on the freeway, like, tomorrow. Oooh, but want to know what else happens tomorrow? A major hair change. Something fitting for my newly discovered old age. Like a tight perm and a bluish tint. Maybe. You'll just have to wait and see.

Happy Wednesday, you young whippersnappers.

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a so super very average blog post

shoes: steve madden. tights: don't recall. shorts: banana republic. shirt: thrifted. cardigan: old navy. watch: target. necklace: gift.

I think I'm trying to simulate sunshine (and thereby the debut of spring) by wearing this yellow sweater practically every day (like here). Just like I'm trying to simulate being a good cook by hiding the wrappers deep in the garbage can. The results on both counts are equally wildly successful. Winter: 1. Stouffers: 1. Brittney: big-fat-0.

My two-year-old paused from her barbie play this morning to look at me and say, "Mommy, I wite (like) yuh (your) wed wips (red lips) today. Dey so so so pity." Because the use of just one superlative adverb (totally just made title that up, I think. But it's okay...I have an English degree. I'm certified to do that kind of thing.) is never sufficient with my kiddos. Everything is really really this, super super that, and very very VERY the other.

I bet I taught them that on accident. I use multiple emphases all the time, like when referencing the deliciousness of girl scout cookies, the nonexistence of my desire to do housework, and the very real probability of my darlings' early demise if I so much as see their toes on the stairs one more time tonight.

(ahem) Okay so that's a little extreme. I would never cause my children's early demise just for getting out of bed repeatedly after bedtime. I mean, what kind of mother would that make me? Life imprisonment, maybe, but no demise.

Happy (pseudo-sunshiney) Tuesday.

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