I finally had had enough of my jeans sliding down my butt.
I'm gradually slimming down again (post-nursing, post-workout), but I often find myself in an awkward in-between phase: either too plump for some pants or two slim for others.
Every few months I try on my old jeans, or attempt to. Every so often I can fit into another one the next size down. Oo, a 14 now. But my belly pooch still gets in the way. A 12 is not always a 12. Sometimes it's a 10 with an 8 waist, oh, haha.
On one hand, it's nice to be losing weight. On the other hand, I keep growing out of great pairs of jeans! I could wear my two current favs for months. But when I found myself constantly hitching them up to avoid looking like a punk, I admitted defeat. No belt was going to make those look good. "That's it for those," and I folded them for the pile to Goodwill.
Last week I realized I didn't have many pants left. Oh, I had one, maybe two pairs of dressy trousers good enough for church, thank goodness, but my jeans situation was dire. All that were left were one pair constantly hidden somewhere in the laundry and this last pair of colorful jeans. When I found those sliding off of me, oh, I was delighted but chagrined. What?! No more pants!? Impossible.
Sears was having a jeans sale, so off I went one evening. Tried on five pairs, bought two pairs. Low rise waist, slightly boot cut, stretch denim. They fit happily. No more saggy butt. Til next time.
--
Showing posts with label clothing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label clothing. Show all posts
Friday, November 11, 2011
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
NaBloPoMo - Wait for the Tides of Clothing
My proportions have shifted and the terrain is all new. The shape of my wardrobe has shifted too.
Last week I was making a sweep through my drawers and closets, looking for clothes to pass on and clothes I could actually wear.
I passed by my stash of pre-pregnancy jeans and thermal underwear that I will wear again some day. I looked over my collection of relatively new tops, rediscovering cuts, colors and patterns that I acquired mere months before I got pregnant. All those hip, dressy blouses make me happy, but most of them won't fit my nursing bosom! Who'da thunk it?
A sleek line of lovely, stylish slacks in browns and blacks takes up a fifth of the space. I tried one on just in case I had shed enough. Nope. Can't even get them over my hips. I didn't even look at the pile of dance dresses that I can't even think about wearing for some time. They are too tight, too slender, too short, too uncomfortable right now, but I'm not getting rid of any of them.
I have too many curves to stuff them into most of my old clothes, and not enough to continue wearing my pregnancy pants. Thank goodness I had the foresight to snag some women's XL comfy capaline thermal leggings. Thank goodness because it feels like it's freezing now, and it's not even winter yet, and I certainly can't wear my old ones.
So now I have this one pair of thermal leggings, two pairs of snuggly pajama pants, and two, two! pairs of pants I can wear out in public, not counting the loose black pants I often wear dancing or the baggy hiking pants that catch at my heels. Only one of those has pockets. It's the jeans I bought on sale whose size I guestimated. That's my new size, at least for the time being.
Then back in the closet, I notice as I'm going through the pants that one of them is... bigger than the others. It's, it's... my new current new size! I'm astonished. When did I buy that? I never wore it when I was pregnant, but somehow it fits me now. Make that *three* pairs of pants I can wear out in public, one of them stylishly cut in a chocolate brown winter fabric. Whoo! I feel like I've won the lottery. Except these pants also fall a little long on my heels.... which means that... I am losing weight?? I can't decide if I'm happy about being slightly smaller than before or sad that I don't quite fit this lovely pair of pants.
I assess my stores and judge I can make it through the Winter. Of my tops, most of my Tshirts are uncomfortably tight, and I can barely fit those dressy tops. I snagged some jewel-tone v-neck Ts on sale a couple months back, women's XL again, and I happily live in those. But for the winter months? I may have to rely on my stash of large, stretchy turtlenecks and accompanying sweaters.
And still I find things to pass on. That dress with over- and under-layers that I'll never wear. Those nursing bras that are just too damn tight. Other clothes I have already forgotten. I am tired of drawers full of clothing that doesn't fit, but I don't see being this curvy forever.
Then my friend emails me about her next women's clothing exchange. Oh, yes!!
In previous years, I've found comfy jeans and sweet jackets at her clothing exchanges, things that call your name even if you weren't looking. Maybe I'll find some clothes to fit my new shape without a large cash outlay. After all, the clothing exchange philosophy is: bring what you have, take home what you want.
I decide now is the time to let go of that Spring suit that I last wore at my best friend's bridal shower, and I haul myself over.
The house is apportioned by room. The front hall is littered with pairs of shoes and sandals. An upstairs bedroom is a safe zone to stash your own clothes. The front living room/library is children's and men's clothing. The back family room is awash in tops and jackets. The front bedroom is bottoms - pants and skirts, and suits, and the dining room has lingere and jewelry with some spare toiletries thrown in. The kitchen is munchies and baked goods to sustain us while we dig through the piles. The front bedroom, especially, is busy with women trying on item after item, searching through piles and modeling for each other. My friend Julie sits half collapsed in a chair after collecting her own piles of acquisitions.
I come home with another pair of comfy pants, some stretch jeans that actually fit and feel wonderful, another pair of lovely dress pants in the next size down, and nine tops in various colors and styles, including a slightly garish top I can wear calling and a Travel City top which is apparently an expensive brand of very nice travel fabric. Also, several men's jeans and dress pants in my husband's size, three snazzy shirts, a small pile of children's tights, socks and pants, and a small toy piano-xylaphone, just the right size for the little Wookie to bang on, which she does with enthusiasm. A good haul.
The clothes go out, the clothes come in. Sometimes the universe gives you just what you ordered. Sometimes you get something different but even better. Make that *five* pairs of fit-for-public pants. I'm definitely making it until Spring.
--
Last week I was making a sweep through my drawers and closets, looking for clothes to pass on and clothes I could actually wear.
I passed by my stash of pre-pregnancy jeans and thermal underwear that I will wear again some day. I looked over my collection of relatively new tops, rediscovering cuts, colors and patterns that I acquired mere months before I got pregnant. All those hip, dressy blouses make me happy, but most of them won't fit my nursing bosom! Who'da thunk it?
A sleek line of lovely, stylish slacks in browns and blacks takes up a fifth of the space. I tried one on just in case I had shed enough. Nope. Can't even get them over my hips. I didn't even look at the pile of dance dresses that I can't even think about wearing for some time. They are too tight, too slender, too short, too uncomfortable right now, but I'm not getting rid of any of them.
I have too many curves to stuff them into most of my old clothes, and not enough to continue wearing my pregnancy pants. Thank goodness I had the foresight to snag some women's XL comfy capaline thermal leggings. Thank goodness because it feels like it's freezing now, and it's not even winter yet, and I certainly can't wear my old ones.
So now I have this one pair of thermal leggings, two pairs of snuggly pajama pants, and two, two! pairs of pants I can wear out in public, not counting the loose black pants I often wear dancing or the baggy hiking pants that catch at my heels. Only one of those has pockets. It's the jeans I bought on sale whose size I guestimated. That's my new size, at least for the time being.
Then back in the closet, I notice as I'm going through the pants that one of them is... bigger than the others. It's, it's... my new current new size! I'm astonished. When did I buy that? I never wore it when I was pregnant, but somehow it fits me now. Make that *three* pairs of pants I can wear out in public, one of them stylishly cut in a chocolate brown winter fabric. Whoo! I feel like I've won the lottery. Except these pants also fall a little long on my heels.... which means that... I am losing weight?? I can't decide if I'm happy about being slightly smaller than before or sad that I don't quite fit this lovely pair of pants.
I assess my stores and judge I can make it through the Winter. Of my tops, most of my Tshirts are uncomfortably tight, and I can barely fit those dressy tops. I snagged some jewel-tone v-neck Ts on sale a couple months back, women's XL again, and I happily live in those. But for the winter months? I may have to rely on my stash of large, stretchy turtlenecks and accompanying sweaters.
And still I find things to pass on. That dress with over- and under-layers that I'll never wear. Those nursing bras that are just too damn tight. Other clothes I have already forgotten. I am tired of drawers full of clothing that doesn't fit, but I don't see being this curvy forever.
Then my friend emails me about her next women's clothing exchange. Oh, yes!!
In previous years, I've found comfy jeans and sweet jackets at her clothing exchanges, things that call your name even if you weren't looking. Maybe I'll find some clothes to fit my new shape without a large cash outlay. After all, the clothing exchange philosophy is: bring what you have, take home what you want.
I decide now is the time to let go of that Spring suit that I last wore at my best friend's bridal shower, and I haul myself over.
The house is apportioned by room. The front hall is littered with pairs of shoes and sandals. An upstairs bedroom is a safe zone to stash your own clothes. The front living room/library is children's and men's clothing. The back family room is awash in tops and jackets. The front bedroom is bottoms - pants and skirts, and suits, and the dining room has lingere and jewelry with some spare toiletries thrown in. The kitchen is munchies and baked goods to sustain us while we dig through the piles. The front bedroom, especially, is busy with women trying on item after item, searching through piles and modeling for each other. My friend Julie sits half collapsed in a chair after collecting her own piles of acquisitions.
I come home with another pair of comfy pants, some stretch jeans that actually fit and feel wonderful, another pair of lovely dress pants in the next size down, and nine tops in various colors and styles, including a slightly garish top I can wear calling and a Travel City top which is apparently an expensive brand of very nice travel fabric. Also, several men's jeans and dress pants in my husband's size, three snazzy shirts, a small pile of children's tights, socks and pants, and a small toy piano-xylaphone, just the right size for the little Wookie to bang on, which she does with enthusiasm. A good haul.
The clothes go out, the clothes come in. Sometimes the universe gives you just what you ordered. Sometimes you get something different but even better. Make that *five* pairs of fit-for-public pants. I'm definitely making it until Spring.
--
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Sorting Through the Old Closet
First order of business is that my computer is making a good impression of a dying bug (feet in the air, making pitiful noises or twitching-ack!ack!). Until this situation is resolved (in all likelihood, I'll need a new machine), I can check in only intermittently, stealing little chunks of time from my husband's machine. And commenting/posting less than usual.
* ^ *
Well. I didn't write yet about how I went on a clothes shopping spree last week! I had looked in the Sunday paper for all the current Mother's Day sales and had targeted a couple of locations to scout for new clothes. With limited time, I focused on one store that seemed to have the best possibilities, and I completely lucked out, finding tons of great stuff at heavy discounts. Woot! I ending up spending a good four(!) hours there.
Ordinarily, trying to make decisions in a big store when I don't know what I want leads to migraines and misery, but here I was busy but focused, collecting possibilities, trying on and evaluating options, finding new possibilities, weeding through my monster pile and actually making headway. It was even fun, maybe because I was finding things that really worked for me. As a bonus, I came home with a core of a new wardrobe and a new look, too.
Then I spent all evening gleefully retrying on all the clothes I had acquired, and also going through my closet to see what would coordinate or could be worn in different ways. Oh yes, and showing off to my husband, who, although ensconced in a book on the couch, was highly appreciative. He kept saying, "I like this new look!" Yeah. So I was quite pleased with myself.
Now that I had something like five pairs of great slacks (on clearance for 80% off!), I felt the freedom to weed out the old slacks that did not fit me any more, no matter how nice they were. Fling, fling, fling. I also pulled out some less-than-ideal skirts and blouses and added them to the "to donate" pile. Time to release them back into the wild. Ahhh, this was most refreshing, clearing out the old and passe.
I got farther and farther back into my closet, trying on everything and clearing out swathes of blah. Way back in the back, I finally reached some of my old dresses and nearly came to a standstill. Several sentimental pieces awaited me.
I took out the blue print mini dress that I looked particularly fabulous in oh, 14 years ago, and admired it. Yup, it was still extremely cute, but I haven't been able to fit into it in at least five years... Well, on to new and better things that actually fit. I gently folded it up and put in on the pile.
Then I tried on the textured black Lycra mini dress that I had been wearing when my husband proposed to me. Size 7. (Pause to laugh at the ludicrousness of ever having been able to wear that size. I did, though! For years!) I wormed my way into it and sashayed out to the living room. "What do you think, Babe? I know I can fit into it, but I don't know if I *should*." He took a look and said, "I like everything I've seen so far, but not that." "With the jacket?" "The jacket's not bad, but not the dress. It doesn't look good." Whew! A sensible and honest opinion is a valuable tool. It's true: it does not truly fit me anymore. I took one last look at the bulges (remembering more the way I looked in it when I first bought it), and put the little black mini dress on the pile. Ditto the wonderful teal knit dress I'd worn 18 years ago. Ditto the first dressy dress I ever bought some 20+ years ago for a winter wedding. I was a geeky, gawky twig back them, and the dress showed off my coloring and made me look like a sophisticated adult. Good memories. So it was painful to even think about letting it go, but I'm releasing that one back into the wild, too. Someone else will have to appreciate its fine fabric and fit.
It's strangely wrenching to let go of those old pieces that remind me of special or significant times in my life, though. I can imagine I am still that young person with all sorts of possibilities ahead of me, a skinny figure with nice legs, who is just starting to realize her potential and worth. I feel affection for her. But now I'm more on the mature end of that stage, and I can't be the cute and sexy girl any more. Like it or not, I'm all the way to woman now. At my age, I guess I'd better get used to it and live it like I mean it. Which also means letting go of those old parts of my image (or self-image) that no longer fit. Damn.
*Ripping off a few more pieces of old self.*
Here's hoping there's fresh new skin just waiting to show up.
* ^ *
Well. I didn't write yet about how I went on a clothes shopping spree last week! I had looked in the Sunday paper for all the current Mother's Day sales and had targeted a couple of locations to scout for new clothes. With limited time, I focused on one store that seemed to have the best possibilities, and I completely lucked out, finding tons of great stuff at heavy discounts. Woot! I ending up spending a good four(!) hours there.
Ordinarily, trying to make decisions in a big store when I don't know what I want leads to migraines and misery, but here I was busy but focused, collecting possibilities, trying on and evaluating options, finding new possibilities, weeding through my monster pile and actually making headway. It was even fun, maybe because I was finding things that really worked for me. As a bonus, I came home with a core of a new wardrobe and a new look, too.
Then I spent all evening gleefully retrying on all the clothes I had acquired, and also going through my closet to see what would coordinate or could be worn in different ways. Oh yes, and showing off to my husband, who, although ensconced in a book on the couch, was highly appreciative. He kept saying, "I like this new look!" Yeah. So I was quite pleased with myself.
Now that I had something like five pairs of great slacks (on clearance for 80% off!), I felt the freedom to weed out the old slacks that did not fit me any more, no matter how nice they were. Fling, fling, fling. I also pulled out some less-than-ideal skirts and blouses and added them to the "to donate" pile. Time to release them back into the wild. Ahhh, this was most refreshing, clearing out the old and passe.
I got farther and farther back into my closet, trying on everything and clearing out swathes of blah. Way back in the back, I finally reached some of my old dresses and nearly came to a standstill. Several sentimental pieces awaited me.
I took out the blue print mini dress that I looked particularly fabulous in oh, 14 years ago, and admired it. Yup, it was still extremely cute, but I haven't been able to fit into it in at least five years... Well, on to new and better things that actually fit. I gently folded it up and put in on the pile.
Then I tried on the textured black Lycra mini dress that I had been wearing when my husband proposed to me. Size 7. (Pause to laugh at the ludicrousness of ever having been able to wear that size. I did, though! For years!) I wormed my way into it and sashayed out to the living room. "What do you think, Babe? I know I can fit into it, but I don't know if I *should*." He took a look and said, "I like everything I've seen so far, but not that." "With the jacket?" "The jacket's not bad, but not the dress. It doesn't look good." Whew! A sensible and honest opinion is a valuable tool. It's true: it does not truly fit me anymore. I took one last look at the bulges (remembering more the way I looked in it when I first bought it), and put the little black mini dress on the pile. Ditto the wonderful teal knit dress I'd worn 18 years ago. Ditto the first dressy dress I ever bought some 20+ years ago for a winter wedding. I was a geeky, gawky twig back them, and the dress showed off my coloring and made me look like a sophisticated adult. Good memories. So it was painful to even think about letting it go, but I'm releasing that one back into the wild, too. Someone else will have to appreciate its fine fabric and fit.
It's strangely wrenching to let go of those old pieces that remind me of special or significant times in my life, though. I can imagine I am still that young person with all sorts of possibilities ahead of me, a skinny figure with nice legs, who is just starting to realize her potential and worth. I feel affection for her. But now I'm more on the mature end of that stage, and I can't be the cute and sexy girl any more. Like it or not, I'm all the way to woman now. At my age, I guess I'd better get used to it and live it like I mean it. Which also means letting go of those old parts of my image (or self-image) that no longer fit. Damn.
*Ripping off a few more pieces of old self.*
Here's hoping there's fresh new skin just waiting to show up.
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