The Girl Who Learned To Kneel

1. For starters, I accept a whole new level of clean. Like that tank top with the milk vomit on the shoulder—I still call that clean. It takes ‘way more than a little milk vomit to earn a wash. Maybe five or six milk CHUNKS in places a cute cardigan can’t mask. (A new mother is wise to explore the art of layering.) Basically in my new world, if a stain dries, it’s good to go again. And probably again.

2. Rarely do I pick up a tube of mascara (and if I do, I only do the top lashes) or brush my hair for that matter. A combination of laziness, making choices about what I do with my time (mascara or coffee?), and trying to embrace my “natural” self (which does not mean I’m okay with Simon taking close up pictures of my crow’s feet). This might just be a phase, so I reserve the right to engage in excessive amounts of plastic surgery if I come into money, and still call myself a feminist.

3. I am now open to the notion of Simon cutting my bangs. Pre-Elsie, absolutely not. Nobody but Tammy touches my hair. But something about “It’ll grow back, dude” keeps coming to mind. It seems I have made the awkward transition from city girl to small town surfer…when it comes to my bangs. I’m still voting Obama!

4. I now dabble in the visual arts, precipitated by my friend Lee inviting me to a printmaking workshop and me making an actual print. His attitude: Why wouldn’t I engage every aspect of artistic creation? You know, try things. Me: Um…because I’m very, very afraid of failure and sucking and…His attitude: Fine, go cry in a corner. I’ll be over here having fun with my ezines and my industrial strength sewing machine. Me: Okay, okay, okay. Small tantrum.

Someone needs a lot of counseling.

5. Oh, right. I now wear sensible shoes.