Clothes Horse

This weekend, I plan to buy some new pants. And hopefully a suit. I have a big meeting here in town, and I'm tired of trotting out the same two or three outfits every time my association has a pow-wow.

My problem is, I can't figure out where to shop. As I have posted several times before, I'm not exactly in love with my body these days. I am at least 10-12 pounds heavier than I should be, and I'm still flabby from growing a baby. I'm working on it (really, I am!) but I can't wait to see the finished results before I buy new clothes.

So my dilemma is, How nice should my new clothes be?

As I've gotten older and wiser, I have found it to be a better use of my money to buy more expensive garments. They look great, they wear well, they last long. The problem, of course, being that for the cost of one pair of slacks from Banana Republic, I can get three pairs from Old Navy. Now if I knew for sure that I would wear those BR trousers for a long, long time, then I wouldn't think twice about my choice. But by this fall, I am hoping to be a solid size (or size and a half?) smaller than I am right now.

What's a girl to do?

I think my first pit stop is going to be TJ Maxx. There, I might hit the elusive jackpot of Liz Claiborne or Jones New York at reasonable prices. I win twice...I get high quality clothes, and I don't feel bad about the cost if I shrink out of them in the near future.

But if the Maxx fails me (as it is sometimes known to do), then I have to make a choice: To take advantage of the spring sales at the likes of Ann Taylor or go trawling through the Gap Factory Store for a bargain?

(I realize this is a pretty petty pickle, but it's my life this week.)

I feel like if I swallow the price tag and buy the good stuff, then it's almost admitting defeat on the weight issue. Perhaps buying the cheaper clothes will motivate me to keep on keeping on with the healthy living mantra I've adopted so I can splurge on some good stuff in a happier size.

Easter Revels

My family had a lovely Easter yesterday. It was a diverse day, beginning with a small basket left by Peter Cottontail (two board books, a baby doll and a very small chocolate bunny) for my daughter...moving on to plenty of "high and holy hymning" at church...and ending with loads of wine and the speed-eating of marshmallow treats (not by me!) for a crowd of raucous spectators. The day reflected the important aspects of holidays as far as I'm concerned (in order):

1. Religious significance, if any. Easter and Christmas are holidays of the church, first and foremost. They mark important days and seasons of the church calendar, and we celebrate them in the pews. (Or choir loft as the case may be.) Since there's no big liturgical connection to Independence Day or Thanksgiving, we skip church on those days.
2. Gathering with family and/or friends. Regardless of whether or not a holiday has religious meaning, I think it is best marked by good company. Friends are usually more fun than family, though there are notable exceptions (like my Indiana cousins - gosh, I miss them now that we're all of legal drinking age!).
3. Eating and drinking well. Getting together with a big group is a terrific excuse to be a gourmand. Big pieces of meat, an endless array of side dishes, plenty of good bread, copious desserts and - of course - cocktails. I find wine to be a perfect match for just about any holiday meal, though a cold beer is a good drink for summer holidays like Labor Day. And of course, it's sacrilege to drink anything other than beer on St. Patrick's Day.
4. Dressing up. Not all holidays require a skirt and heels, but most of them are good excuses to gussy up a little bit or at least usher in a new season's wardrobe. Memorial Day is the perfect day to show off new sandals.
5. Giving gifts to loved ones. I know this flies in the face of modern Hallmark culture, but I am just not that into the consumer goods part of most holidays. I always beg my husband to be practical, and I go for minimalism in giving gifts to others.

Yeah, at the end of a good holiday, I'm full of good food, my face hurts from laughing, I've got a nice pleasant buzz, and I look cute. Knowing I can sleep in the next morning (which is, unfortunately, never the case on Easter) is icing on the cake.

Choose Your Hell

This weekend, my husband and I went to this giant surburban mall on the edge of the metro area where we live. It was crawling with big hair, greasy fast food and pageant dresses for infants and toddlers.

It pretty much made my head explode. It was my idea of hell.

Of course, a few weeks ago when some girlfriends and I went shopping, I encountered a different kind of hell. This kind was sprawly and sterile...giant townhouse farms and big box shopping centers and endless parking lots. Today, the hell I experienced was crowded, cheap and confusing.

I'm not sure which was better. And yet, there are people who have to choose between these two hells every day. These people cannot afford the comfortable close-in suburbs where my family now lives or where we will soon be moving.

Is it better to live somewhere that's a little closer to the city, in a cheaply-made house eating cheap fatty foods served at a counter, sending your kids to mediocre schools but only spending 45 minutes on the way to work? Or is it better to live somewhere that the houses are well-made and the schools are terrific and you can sit down to a meal served by a waitress, but the commute to the city is nearly an hour and a half during rush hour? (In the latter scenario, the foods may not be offered for free samples on toothpicks in a mall food court, but still have just as many calories and artery-clogging fatty acids. Those giant chain grilles make me feel sick.)

In this booming economy, in this insane real estate market, I firmly believe that you have to pay for your home. There are no free rides. You either pay with money or you pay with time (in commuting) or you pay with space (as you live in a few hundred well-located square feet) or you pay with your community (as the schools are in transition and safety is perhaps spotty). If you don't have a lot going for you, ie, you have a low-wage job or high debt, then you may pay with some combination of all four.

It's pretty disheartening.

I feel really grateful that we have the choice. My husband and I have opted to pay with money. It's going to be tight for a few months at least, but in the end it's an option I can stomach. Because if my choices were shitty-and-close-in and well-off-in-BFE, I think I would just drink myself silly every night...

Too Much of a Good Thing

Because our house has been on the market all weekend, we have been eating out. A lot. Almost every meal over the weekend, save breakfasts, has been at a restaurant, delivery or a packed lunch. And I am really sick of eating on the go.

It's not like we've been hitting the same kinds of places over and over (we desperately avoid those grody chain grilles like TGIFriday's and Applebee's). We went to our favorite neighborhood Mexican restaurant one night. We went to the best local burger joint the next night. We had brick oven pizza the third night. Last night was dinner at a microbrewery.

But I feel overstuffed, bloated, clogged up and weighed down. Too much sugar, too much salt, too much caffeine. Too many calories.

(I now have the teensiest sense of what Morgan Spurlock felt at the end of his month-long Mickey D's binge.)

What I want is a nice homecooked meal with lots of vegetables in it. Something light, something gently prepared. I would love some sushi. Or green beans with a little lemon and garlic.

I'm reminded of how I feel when returning from a convention, something that happens once a year in the glamorous world of trade associations. The week begins and ends with airport food and, in between, is full of three-course lunches, lavish receptions and group dinners out. I always come home feeling like I need to detox on food, and I beg my husband for a meal full of vegetables and legumes. We often go for Indian, where I load up on spinach, cauliflower, chickpeas and eggplant.

Unfortunately, tonight is when we review our contracts with the realtor, which means no grocery shopping and no significant cooking. We'll likely be heating up a pre-made meal like Skillet Sensations or Freschetta pizza. Tomorrow, though, will be a trip to the supermarket to stock up on fresh produce, and hopefully by this weekend we'll be back on the healthy eating track.

Lobbying, Deconstructed

This week, I was honored to be a guest at a very well-attended dinner for a foundation that gives scholarships to graduate students seeking careers in business-government relations. As an alumna of the foundation and as someone who is still in the nascent years of her career as a lobbyist, I was invited to sit at the table of a large international company who helped sponsor the event.

Everyone who attended the dinner, where we heard from a Senator, a Congressman and the Vice President, was proud of the profession of lobbying. And it was kind of nice to be in a room where everyone understood and appreciated advocacy.

My family hardly understands what I do. I have tried to explain it over and over, but it's hard. I don't make widgets or write articles (that are for public consumption). I don't work on campaigns or design printed materials. I don't run a business. My job responsibilities are a lot more ambiguous (to the non-Washington world), and the profession of lobbying is often seen as water-carrying for powerful interests.

I've never had a three-martini lunch. I've never given money to any Members of Congress...legally or illegally. I've never been in a smoky room where laws were being written. I don't represent big companies that are out to screw "the little guy" while they pursue their own selfish corporate goals.

Much of my job is spent keeping tabs on what's happening on the Hill and in the agencies and keeping my members informed. There's nothing that exciting about scanning the contents of a 500 page bill for provisions of relevance, but my members appreciate knowing what could impact their operations.

And I spend a lot of time on the phone with middle management bureaucrats and overworked, underpaid Congressional staff. Much of the time, I'm just trying to figure out what's going on. Other times, I am trying to persuade someone to consider my industry's arguments and view points. I've never had to push for policy that would hurt another industry or screw things up for decent hard-working people.

Everyone seems happiest when all the interested parties can come to a mutual agreement. That's really where the magic happens. That's what makes certain Members of Congress and lobbyists legends and heroes in this town. Brokering a big deal is, well, a big deal.

Someday I aspire to be an experienced lobbyist who mentors young professionals in the field and has a few big legislative accomplishments on my track record. In the meantime, I'm happy just to sit in the room with those who set the bar.

Howdy, Neighbor!

Well, the world now knows that our house is on the market. Our realtor’s assistant came by last night and staked a bright white sign in the yard that reads, “FOR SALE, OPEN SUNDAY 1-4.” And while I’m delighted to be moving and so excited about our new house, I feel a little weird about proclaiming it to the whole neighborhood this way.

While I think we are friendly enough people, we are just not that close to our neighbors. I mean, we get along fine with most of them. Our daughter always stops to play with the little girl who lives two doors down, we chat with the gregarious couple three doors down, we talk about the weather with the elderly woman across the street, we’ve introduced ourselves to the families across the street, we even teamed up on a new back fence with one next door neighbor.

(Although we’ve never really clicked with the socially retarded serial killer on the other side… “You say that he had ten bodies stacked like cord wood in the basement? It doesn’t really surprise me. He was always the quiet type, kept to himself.”)

But prior to the sign-staking, we had only told one family (with the friendly little girl) that we were moving. I don’t know whether we just haven’t been outgoing enough or whether our street is particularly keep-to-itself-ish, but I hope that we have a different experience when we move.

I don’t need for us and our neighbors to be all in each others’ business a la Wisteria Lane, but it would be nice to communicate with them face to face. The bright white yard sign just seems so impersonal.

Maybe it’s not that important these days to be able to borrow a cup of sugar (as Andre 3000 says, “Lend me some sugar; I am your neighbor!”), but I remember growing up and knowing everyone who lived on my side of the street and several families who lived across the street. And I want my daughter to have a similar experience growing up.

In fact, the sense of community is one of the things that drew us to our new house. It’s known as a very friendly place to live where people get along well and know each other. There are lots of families with young children, and there are community events planned throughout the year, as well as a community pool.

Also, our new next door neighbors told the realtor that she better make sure that the “right” family moves in because people who live on our street like to “gather” during the summer in the common lawn behind the townhouses. Apparently, on nice weekend days, when someone fires up the grill and throws open their garden gate, others follow suit. Pretty soon there’s an impromptu picnic going on.

Maybe we will have a sign made for the occasion: “PICNIC TODAY, COME ON OUT!”

I Enjoy Having a Girl

This week has been a shopping bonanza for my daughter. Her spring wardrobe is now more fashionable than mine will ever be.

I know it sounds shallow, but I love to dress her up. I love to buy her adorable clothes and put together bold mix-and-match outfits. I love to find slightly off-beat patterns or colors so that she stands out.

When it comes to her daily wear, I'm pretty practical. Some good play clothes from Target or The Children's Place will do just fine for coming home streaked with beefaroni from daycare lunch. But for weekend social events, special outings and church, I like to have her armoire stocked full of bright colors, cute patterns, interesting fabrics and eye-catching accessories.

So I went a little hog wild at the outlets this weekend with my girlfriends. A pink and red striped bikini with a blue foam flower on the top? A hot pink jumper with embroidered daisies and a lime green ribbon belt? Turquoise cuffed capris? A collarless pink and white striped dress coat?

You can bet I bought them all.

And today I visited one of the little chichi children's boutiques near my office where I bought my daughter's Easter dress. It's a really bright pink and red floral print with a white Peter Pan collar that has ric rac trim. Did I buy the white straw hat with the pink silk flower on the back and a trailing white ribbon?

You betcha.

Now I just have to wait for the weather to get warm, and then my little Barbie doll will be the cutest!

Everything in Its Place

I am such a Virgo. I love organizing things, making to-do lists and crossing items off when completed. It gives me this Zen sort of peace to put everything in its place and accomplish tasks.

I firmly believe that my physical spaces (home and office) reflect my mind. If all is tidy and organized, then I feel sharp, efficient and energized. When my desk and house are messy, when deadlines slip through the cracks or when I can't find what I'm looking for, I feel overwhelmed, frustrated and fuzzy.

Today I am riding a high from cleaning out my email inbox.

(Try not to leap out of your chair.)

Seriously, I have used the morning to follow up on messages that have been sitting unattended for weeks, and I have this crisp, refreshed feeling like I've just been out for a walk on an early spring afternoon.

Also, cleaning the clutter out of our house and packing items for sale/moving has me in a kind of obsessive-compulsive wonderland. All those neatly packed boxes, with belongings organized by room and labeled carefully, make me happy in a very twisted kind of way. But thinking about where and how our things will fit into the new house has me dreaming of shopping...for STORAGE.

When my husband and I were discussing the possibility of buying new furniture for the new house (if we have the money), I said that beyond a new bed and a dining room set, we really should buy some storage pieces. And he looked at me like I had said we should just buy some flaggerty-whirdoodles.

I had to elaborate: "Yknow, a storage system for [our daughter]'s toys, like with bins or baskets in shelving. Maybe some closet systems. An entertainment center with drawers and cubbies. A really great filing cabinet. That sort of thing."

Still, I got a blank, pained expression.

Clearly, he is not a Virgo. And I'm in charge of the household files.

Slim Goodbody

Around the first of the year, I set out to reclaim my body from the flabby, soft marshmallow that had slowly gobbled it up since getting pregnant two years ago. The good news is that after about six weeks of concentrated effort, I managed to lose the 5-6(ish) pounds I gained during the holidays. The bad news is that since then, I've hit a plateau and am still about 12 pounds heavier than when I got pregnant.

Back on the good news side, I am definitely getting some muscle tone thanks to working out. That is, I may weigh exactly what I did in November, but I am a little smaller. However - back to the Bad News Bears - my stomach still has this gross pooch of flabby skin that seems to be hanging around (literally!) indefinitely.

Ugh. I thought this would be easier. I will add "postpartum weight loss struggle" to the list of Things No One Told Me About Life After Having a Baby.

(I could write post after post about the troubles I've had since my daughter was born, largely because no one ever bothers to talk about what it's really like after delivering a baby. But for the moment I'll just concentrate on the issue of getting back to pre-baby weight.)

I didn't think my body would just naturally snap back into my size 10 dress pants (though I did entertain the notion), but I didn't expect to be sitting around with a walking, talking toddler wishing I owned control top panties. I mean, it seems that getting my old body back is in the realm of the possible. I see women who have children younger than mine prancing around in bikinis at my daughter's swim lessons.

What's their secret?

It can't be breastfeeding, because I did that for almost 10 months, and while I think it helped with the early weight loss, it was no silver bullet.

Is it working out 5-7 times a week? Or doing killer workouts like TaeBo? Maybe my little Quick Fix DVDs aren't making me sweat enough, or maybe I need to do them every single day instead of a few times a week.

Or maybe those skinny bitch moms just don't eat very much. Even when I'm eating all healthy stuff I tend to eat too much of it.

I guess I need to head back to the drawing board. Or the elliptical machine. Or the salad bar.

TO BE CONTINUED (AGAIN)...

This Old House

I used to think that old houses were the only way to go. So much charm. So much character. But now I cannot wait to move into our new place, just 15 years old.

Don't get me wrong...this house has been good to us. We've really enjoyed living here. But in the past two months or so, we've had some work done to try and ready the place for sale. And at every turn, the tiniest jobs have turned into pain-the-ass projects because of the irregular, jury-rigged way that our Frankenstein house has been put together by its many owners.

Tonight, I was faced with the simple task of putting a switchplate on the box where the old basement ceiling lighting fixture was hooked up. The carpenter had forgotten to do it, and then the electrician had forgotten as well. Slightly irritated but certain I could cover the hole in the ceiling with a 68 cent blank plate and a few minutes of effort with a screwdriver, I set about to remedy the problem.

Well, turns out that the box was not only mounted behind the drywall (necessitating long screws to even reach it), but some of the wires were not run through the box and instead were brought around from the outside, blocking the screwhole.

Now I know why both contractors "forgot" to do this job.

I basically had to mount a blank switchplate under the drywall (with one screw, mind you, because the other hole was blocked) to cover the wires. Then I had to use spackle and Goop to glue *another* bigger blank switchplate flush with the ceiling (over the smaller plate) so that there wouldn't be a divot in the ceiling.

What a jury-rigged freakin' mess. I almost want to stick a Post It note on it when we leave that says, "Sorry. We tried. This house is kind of fucked up."

Needless to say, I'm really looking forward to someplace that was built more recently and probably has amenities like square corners and level floors and wiring that was approved by an inspector before the house was finished.

But will it have charm? Character? I'm willing to give up a little of both to ensure that I won't be spending my time at home spackling over someone else's shortcuts or mistakes.

Housing a Dream

"We got the house!" I wanted to scream it into my husband's face and jump up and down with him and drink champagne.

But he was in LA. So I had to email him. And when his focus group was over, he checked his Blackberry and got the news. I did my best to convey my excitement with ALL CAPS and multiple exclamation points!!!!!

It still doesn't feel quite real, and perhaps that's because my hubby has been gone since we wrote the contract. He had to miss out on making last-minute nail-biting decisions, getting wildly swinging updates from the realtor, picking up the HOA documents, meeting the listing agent, doing a drive-by of the place and seeing an "Under Contract" sign, etc. It's been a little daze-inducing and won't really feel real until he and I look into each other's eyes and laugh.

But it's real. Very, very real. We have a ratified contract. There is no going back!

As I was going to bed the night I found out our good news, I had a moment where my stomach dropped into my feet. Were we too rash? Did we spend more than we could afford? Would we regret this decision? Was the house itself as good as I made it out to be in my head?

And then I paused and imagined the rest of the year in our new place...

Piping holiday music throughout the house stereo system during our Christmas open house...Setting a new table with china for a dinner party in our formal dining room...Relaxing on a Saturday morning in our soaking tub...Teaching my daughter to use the potty in her lilac bathroom...Having our parents come to stay in our guest room...Deciding to make some crazy involved recipe and having any appliance or tool I might need in a nearby cabinet and enough counter space to accomodate everything...Taking my daughter swimming in the community pool this summer...Driving home with a trunk full of heavy groceries, knowing I will be able to park in my garage...Kicking off football season with a party in our rec room...Trick-or-treating in a neighborhood where the lights are on at every house and everyone opens their doors to the little ones knocking...

My stomach lifted out of my feet, and my spirit soared.

Losing Sucks

I'm not sure whether we will win or lose on the house we just bid on, but in this crazy real estate market, one thing is sure: There are going to be some very dejected people before this night is over.

Don't think I'm some backwoods yokel who doesn't know the score on the aggressive DC market. No, we went all out on this contract: We waived every contingency we could, we went $45,000 over asking price, and we gave away everything that wasn't bolted down.

(In fact, at the gynecologist's this afternoon, I asked her to make sure my reproductive organs were still in there, cause I was pretty sure that I had offered them up in the negotiations.)

But - according to our agent - there are multiple offers, and some of them are higher than ours. This decision is going to come down to whether the listing agent likes our agent and lender enough and whether the sellers feel "a connection" with us (as communicated via our cover letter).

So, somewhere out there, there are other couples or singles or widows or investors that are biting their nails knowing they did everything they could, they opened up their veins to get this house. And only one contract is going to win.

The rest of us get the joy and privilege of riding this roller coaster over and over and over again until someone somewhere picks us and lets us off.

Ugh. I think I could barf.