Yesterday was my birthday. 35. That is honestly hard to type. I know some people don't have a hard time aging, but I am. Especially after the Y incident earlier in the week. I promise I won't mention that in every post. I want to be 25, not 35. Whine, whine, whine.
I needed a new computer for my photography business, so I ask for birthday money this year. Yesterday morning, Copeland comes into my bedroom sounding like an old man jingling change in his pocket...or a kid jingling change.
He shoves a zip lock bag at me and says, "happy birthday momma." I happen to KNOW this is all the change he had in his piggy bank. He also wrote the exact amount on the bag and who it was from...and for some reason, decided to add that it was also from the dog. I have already used .50 for a Diet Coke. He was proud.
Onto another VERY important topic. Mom clothes. Similarly to my addiction to children's clothing, momish apparel rocks my world. I have a system...it goes something like this:
Day 1. Buy something I cannot live with out(this is totally relative...so don't judge).
Day 2. Wear it.
Day 3. Wear it again the next day.
Day 4. Maybe wash it the following day, maybe not.
Day 5. Wear it again.
Day 6. Decide my husband has to be tired of seeing "new favorite outfit" and wear something different.
Day 7. Forget that I care if he cares and wear the outfit again.
Day 8. Spill something on the outfit. Darn. Must wash or send to the cleaners.
REPEAT with next outfit.
I typed all that to say...you've probably seen this outfit on me at least 5 times already. Black pull on open tunic thingy, footless tights, and brown cowboy boots.