I like clothes

This week has been the boys’ spring break (holiday from school). Big Angel went to a Hunger Games camp, and Little Angel had a few days of his Special day camp (program for people with Developmental Disabilities — bless them). In Big Angel’s Hunger Games happened to be a classmate who lives up the street: we discovered this on the first day, so the mother asked me if we could carpool. She’s one of those for whom I’ve always had little respect, but listening to her complain yesterday definitely made her respect-free in my book. They are financially comfortable, have three children (the youngest of whom is an “oops,” about which the mother loudly brags [I wouldn’t, both afraid the children would hear and understand as well as how offensive to those who want children but are unable]), the mother doesn’t work (in or out of the home), they have a cleaning lady, and her parents live nearby so up they come a few times a week to help her with her children. She was boo-hooing because her mother was unable to come up more than twice this week … and her eldest two were in camp.

I rest my case.

But I am so excited about the near-completion of our bedroom and my spring and summer sartorial choices! Superficial, thy name is moi.

I have long loved Eileen Fisher, even though the fit of her clothes is inconsistent. Last year I espied the most delicious ultraviolet silk dress of hers hanging in Nordstrom. It was $338, so on the rack it remained. But then for some reason in January I was on the Neiman Marcus website where the dress was, only now $119. I didn’t think at all, let alone twice, before purchasing it.


Come to maman! but never, ever with ridiculous shoes like these

For whatever kind reason the Eileen Fisher company sent me a generous and unsolicited gift card, so I made good use of it purchasing this sweet double-breasted cropped jacket

which I think will look fantastic with the dress! I’m already planning on wearing it to the Big Angel’s fifth grade culmination ceremony.

And I’m pretty gaga for Fly London shoes, so I got these black suede peep-toe lace-up booties:


They are sinfully comfortable so I’m sure I’ll enjoy them.

I’ve also been feeling snakeskin, so found some cute flat sandals which will probably end up as my go-to this summer.


I’m having fun with asymmetry, wearing a side drape tank

with an elliptical cropped linen top over (a blouse I purchased and had altered so much it is no longer recognizable). I love, love this asymmetrical pant with panels attached.

Light Linen Asymmetrical Pant by Bryn Walker

I purchased new frames even though I just had glasses made in February — I want more than one pair of this prescription (progressive — I need both now!).

Little Angel has taken to pulling fecal matter out of his diaper and smearing it all over, his bed, his body, his mouth, when he has a BM at night. During the day I am able to prevent this by changing his diaper as soon as he goes. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I’m having Special Needs onesies made (like a baby onesie, only sized for a big boy), but that’ll take a spell.

Ruffins new bed 5-14

the Special Needs bed

I may be incredibly banal, vapid, and vain, but I am grasping at straws here. His fantastic and safe Special Needs bed has nine million nooks and crannies, and that means in the middle of the fucking night I am cleaning and then disinfecting nine million nooks and crannies, in addition to bathing him and trying to keep him out of mischief (like cat food, kitty litter) as I do all this. (He has pica, which means he’ll put just about any- and everything in his mouth.) It is near impossible. He is turning into a nightmare to deal with, and I hate myself for thinking and writing that, as he is profoundly, deeply disabled, and he is profoundly, deeply sweet. He has no idea what he’s doing but I KNOW EVERY FUCKING THING. And I am so sad and so mad, and angry with myself for being mad about it.

So if I want to buy ridiculous clothes and shoes I figure I’m going to do it. This is my payment for cleaning poop and listening to stupid mommies who have no idea what it’s like to have to really work, what it’s like to be really scared, yet who have the gall to complain about their protected and pompous situations.

Eating my feelings is no longer helping me, and since I don’t drink I am honestly unsure what to next turn. Recreational drugs are a no. Being snarky is a big yes. Luckily at that I excel.

And how.

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5 Responses to I like clothes

  1. Mila says:

    That blue dress… beautiful

  2. Andrea says:

    I’m so, so sorry you have to deal with this. I was a special education teacher for teenagers with profound disabilities so I somewhat understand what you’re going through. I don’t think you’re vain at all and I don’t think you should be upset with yourself for being upset and frustrated with your son. Cleaning up shit night after night is disgusting (no matter who’s shit it is and no matter how sweet they are and no matter how profound they are ) and exhausting and would drive anyone mad.

    I came upon your blog by accident just now, I googling “adaptive clothing” because my friend’s newborn has the most severe type brittle bone disease, so I don’t know your opinion but have you considered having your son live in a group home? You could visit him every day, have him come home for weekends, holidays, whenever you’d like, and get a good night sleep. A well rested staff member would be able to help him. The time you’d spend with your son would be happier.
    Also I’d think he’d/you’d be eligible for respite care. Maybe you could have an aide at night so you would be able to sleep. I know the system is tricky to navigate and I could be way in left field but I know resources are available. Be gentle to yourself, you’re working much harder and longer hours than most parents. I hope your son has quit with the fecal smearing and I hope he’s not eating as many nonedibles. I hope you’re getting rest.
    Ps his room is fantastic! The bed is genius and the swing is terrific! You’re a kick ass mom

    • Thank you for your supportive note, Andrea. I hope you were able to find special clothing for your friend’s child. I don’t know about every state as unfortunately there is not a federalized rubric — there should be (in my opinion) — but in the state in which we live my son is entitled to respite care. A friend of mine who has an adult daughter has placed her daughter in a group home, and who knows? Maybe when my sweet boy is 21 I may feel likewise, but as of now I just can’t imagine ceding his care. I’m too petrified that he would be hurt or neglected, he is so vulnerable. (Her daughter is much higher functioning — can understand, speak, read, write, provides her own self-care, etc.) His daddy and I say that the only way we’ll be able to die is if our Little Angel has already passed away, but I suspect that his dying may just kill me anyway (of a broken heart). Like spouses who miss their late spouses’ snoring, I’ll bet that when my son does finally pass away I’ll one day look back on his pulling out his own poop with a smile, instead of an epithet …. He spent a good portion of January and February of this year in hospital fighting for his life, and we lived in a constant state of fear. While horrible, it certainly clarified things for me. Thank you again for your kind words.

  3. Monique gross says:

    I just stumbled upon this by accident while looking for a safe bed for our 8 year old. This is just made me laugh out loud, because for for the first time in 8 years someone can write how I feel everyday .. except that I do drink 😊. amen for wine. I think we need to meet

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