a zigzag scarf and a brush with death...or at least some squooshy mud

 boots: target. jeans: old navy. shirt: duo maternity. scarf: forever 21. earrings: etsy.

I know, I know...the boots-and-knee-high-socks thing has been done to death. But it's comfy and warm and covers up some of my water-retaining legs. So we'll just have to agree to agree-but-let-the-pregnant-lady-have-her-way for another month or two, mmmmkay? Thanks a mil.

I took my 3-year-old daughter for a walk this morning. She's adorable but has a stubborn streak that comes to a very vocal head when she's asked to do something outlandish. Like walk. So she rode in the stroller.

Our route led us up a small hill and then back down. Wanting to change things up on the way home, at the bottom of the hill I took a scenic route (read: death-defying brush with nature) along the canal. It was muddy, snowy, slushy, puddley (yep. real word. maybe.), slippery, bumpy and all things "-y" that would potentially cause one well-meaning but off-balanced soul wearing zero-traction boots to careen into the nearby waterway.

You'll all breathe an enormous sigh of relief, as I did, when our squeal-worthy rugged-terrain journey ended with zero fatalities and only one really muddy boot. Which, frankly, is a happy albeit fairly anticlimatic ending to this tale.

I know what you're all thinking: Why would she share such a pointless Story of Meh? What a waste of my time. Doesn't she know Nate Berkus is almost on? Fair enough, but in my defense, the alternative was a riveting story about how I chewed a hangnail on my super-dry thumb until it bled and now the bandaid keeps coming off. So.

You're welcome, and I accept your apology.

Happy Tuesday.

similar stuff (maternity & regular):

More Missoni...

i don't think they're calling me mellow yellow (that's right)...

 shoes: steve madden. socks: smiths marketplace. skirt & cardigan: j.crew. shirt: gap. scarf: forever21. flower hairclip: downeast outfitters.

I dunno, guys. I was totally uninspired today by my 30x30 items this morning, lounging lazily in my closet and doing their best to ignore me. I feel like I've made all the obvious matches, you know? So bear with me over the next two weeks, as the UNobvious becomes the everyday. But the good news (for all of us) is that, as day 15, the glass is half done.

So. Non-inspiration typically equates to either totally mundane or...how do I put it...totally odd. Heh. Guess what I went for today. I'm commiting all sorts of fashion faux paus here--t-shirt with pencil skirt, socks with sandals, two bright & bold patterns competing with each other, not to mention the socially-unacceptable exposure of pasty-white knees. Meh. I'm not even fazed, though. That's what happens when I eat too much sugar the day before. I turn into a rebel without a clue.

Speaking of Tom Petty lyrics...does anyone else just LOVE the song "free falling"? A timeless classic, if you ask me. (Which you didn't, but I'm the one typing here, so I can pretend anything I want.) When I'm jogging and Free Falling comes around on my playlist, I get a huge (probably psycho) smile on my face, bee-bop of my head, and rhythm to my stride. Basically, for about 3 minutes, I become an oblivious one-woman circus bopping along the side of the road. But a themed Free Fallin' circus. Which HAS to be better than any Barnum & Bailey number. 'Cept the elephants. That's a definite feather in their cap.

[Editor's note: I almost made a joke that compared my thighs to an elephant's. But, although potentially mildly humorous, it's rude, even (especially?) coming from oneself. So I didn't. I'm just learning to fly, guys.] [Assistant Editor's note: If you're unfamiliar with Tom Petty, you should probably just ignore this entire post. We apologize for the decade-specific references. It's the last dance with Mary Jane, I promise.]

Breaking rules or no, I feel a bit Unexpected and Maybe Awesome today. Hope you do, too.
Happy Tuesday!

Want a similarly unexpected look? Check out how you can get one...

More Topshop...

welp, today's post proves it. i'm sophisticated and refined.

boots & watch: target. grey skinny jeans: kohls. shirt: modbe. cardigan: j.crew. scarf & headbands: forever 21. belt: Pocket's.

My kids love hearing stories about themselves when they were little. Or just about themselves in general. Because, let's face it, the world contained within these four walls actually does revolve around them. Mmmm...kind of. Anyway, my son particularly loves the story about the funny, slash, disgusting thing that happened when he was a brandnew baby and Pocket was changing his diaper. I'd detail it here, but some of you don't have children yet, and I don't want to dissuade you from the decision.

Don't you love it when someone does that? Like, dangles a tidbit of a story in front of you like a zhu-zhu pet in front of a puppy, then doesn't follow through with the juicy details? Well...I promise you, this isn't like that. The details of this story are indeed juicy. Quite literally. So. I'll just leave you with two words and let your imaginations run wild: "projectile" and "poo."

Annnd...enough about you. Let's talk about me. Jumping-off point today was comfort and flexibility, because I was watching my 2- and 0-year-old nephews this morning. So. I just sort of piled stuff on until I ran out of time while my kids ate breakfast. Oooh, that's a great idea for a game show, no? Contestants have a closetful of clothes and 30 seconds to throw on a decent outfit before, say, three children in the next room (ages 2, 4, and 6, hypothetically speaking of course) start fingerpainting the furniture with yogurt, guzzling syrup from the bottle, and creating eternity pools of their cups by pouring their own milk.
 
And if that totally made-up make-believe absolutely fictional scenario made your forehead break out in tiny beads of sweat, I don't know what to say. 'Cept this: Don't come live at my house for the next 10 years.
 
Anyway. This is what I wore today. And if you're going to tell me that I'm too old to wear double braids, I'm going to fake geriatric-induced hearing loss and wear them anyway. Yep. Fake. Because, haven't you heard? 31 is the new 17... or 11...okay, FINE, 3. 
 
Happy Thursday.
 

Want this look?  boots  grey jeans  cardigan  colorful scarf

More Merona...

ode to a zigzag scarf

 shoes & shirt: american eagle outfitters. jeans: so brand. nude cami: motherhood maternity (yep. i have 3 of these, diff colors. nope, not preg.) scarf & bracelet: f21. belt: pocket's. 

Ode to a Zigzag Scarf. But Not Just Any Zigzag Scarf. MY Zigzag Scarf.

My zigzag scarf is awesome

I wear it all the time.

It turns a look that's boring

Into one that's super fine.*

(*Maybe not totally true, but I had to rhyme. Stay with me.) 

I love its zigzag pattern,

Going this way, going that.

It's long enough to hang down

To my legs...I look less fat!

The brightly colored pattern

Goes with everything, amen.

I hope it's not too weird

To call 'im Zigs, my New Best Friend.

(Except that's not exactly true

'Cuz Pocket's Number One.

On date night took me shopping,

even though he hates shopping, and bought me these jeans from my needs list and even pretended to have FUN!)

Happy Monday!

p.s. Don't forget to enter the giveaway! Ends Tuesday at 8 a.m. MST.

Want this look? dark skinny jeans  slouchy tee  zigzag scarf

More Rocawear...

1-1-11: the tag-along little bro of 11-11-11...

 Shoes: Union Bay. Jeans & henley tee: gap. Cardigan: Don't recall. Scarf & belt: F21.

I don't make a ton of new years resolutions. Never have, probably never will. (But good for you if you do! I'm just sayin'...for me...I don't...hoo boy. Keep digging yourself a hole, Brittney...) What I mean is, I'm a pretty determined soul by nature, so if I really want to do something, I'll do it. Even if it's on, say, August 28th. Or May 12th. Or any of the other 363 days of the year (or 364 on leap year. Naturally.).

In the past month of starting/doing this blog, one of the things I've learned from wearing what I own is: quality is waaaaaay better than quantity. Actually, I haven't really learned it. I've lived the opposite of it. I have a million clothes--there's still about 1/3 of my closet untouched, even after a month of wearing something different every day (except for some jeans repeats). That's bordering on ridiculous. But many of them neither fit nor are really my style.  

[Editor's note: Enter today's outfit, of one of my favorite shirts (a striped henley tee), my absolute favorite zigzag scarf, some messy accent braids in my hair. Comfy, casual, and cuter in my head than on the bod, but whatchagonnado...]

So, I'm eating my words about resolutions. [Editor's note: They go nicely with this chewy caramel corn at my side...] My fashion resolution for 2011: as I consider, accept, or buy clothes, it's Quality over Quantity.

Happy Saturday.

womens knit pattern scarf

I can't be sure, but I *think* I deserve an award.

So, I have a sis-in-law who won't touch raw meat. Sure, she'll eat it (well, not RAW meat. Just, you know, meat. Prepared & cooked). She'll even cook it. But for some reason (e.g., it's gross?), she can't bring herself to touch it. Like to put it into little bags to freeze it or whatever--nope. That job's left up to her husband.

I have GOT to get me an arrangement like that. 'Cept it's too late for me. Paul knows better. Drat.

Anyways. Picture yourselves this: Me. Last night. Hastily trying to prepare dinner, which involved cooking a whole roasting chicken. Although I'm not necessarily a girly-girl per se, I'll be the first to admit I'm a *wee* bit squeamish about the "whole bird" thing. I kind of have to distract my brain for a few while I clean and prepare it. Like when you have to lift the wings to rub butter on the skin underneath? Yeah, I could do without that.

Well, EEEEEEEEASY on last night's whole chicken cooking endeavor topping the National Chart o' Grossness. [Editor's note: Because there is such a thing. On display in DC, I think, right next to the Declaration of Independence. Huh. I'm surprised you haven't heard of it.] Not only were there weird organs inside the chicken (which, I know there are always, like, the liver and some other organ in there, but these lumps were weird colors and shapes. And there were about 14 of them. ??), but there were also still FEATHERS. ON. THE. BIRD.

Honestly. I'll buy a whole chicken. I'll wash it and prepare it. I'll cook it up all delicious-like and enjoy the savory meat at dinner with my family. But I will not -- I repeat NOT -- happily pluck my own food. Eight feathers, there were, still attached to the bird.

If you grew up on a farm and are rolling your eyes at me, fine. Go ahead. And good for you that you wrang (??) your first chicken's neck at age 3. But I didn't. And, although I'm grateful to those who perform such duties on my behalf, I have no desire to witness such a close-to-life display of the food I eat.

But I swallowed my disgust, closed my eyes (almost), and plucked. And plucked. And plucked again. Eight times. Then I covered the dang thing with foil and threw it into the oven because I was starting to get heebie-jeebie goosebumps. And, when I tried to make dinnertime conversation about my award-deserving-self, my husband politely stopped me at the first mention of "whole chicken" and gestured to his food, as if to say, "I'm eating here, hon..."

Exactly. Gross.

So, to wrap things up: My overall goal today was to wear clothes that LEAST closely resembled a chicken. For obv reasons. My only requirement was a skirt for tonight's activities, but it's been super cold lately and tights alone just weren't going to cut it. So I added leg warmers. Mmmmm...cozy. And my very favorite zigzag scarf was calling out to me from the depths of my closet, feeling a wee bit neglected no doubt, since I haven't worn it for more than a week. I chose a kind of in-the-background brown cami and greenish cardigan to go with it. 'Cept the cardigan is striped, and with the zigzag it might be a little busy. (Opinions?)

The cardigan is a few sizes too big [Editor's note: Thereby making it just the right size. I love an oversized cardigan in the winter.], so I belted it. And belted the scarf for good measure. It just wanted to be close to me I think. Poor abandoned accessory.

Happy Friday.