My first memory of clothes is a brown floral print dress with lace on the sleeves and collar. It had matching bloomers with lace around the legs. It twirled and I felt like a princess in it. I remember feeling special because my mom had sewed it. I can picture her cutting out fabric pieces at our yellow kitchen table with the 70s hippy flower wallpaper behind her. She made most of my clothes and I loved them all, especially my Annie dress.

Years past and I began to realize that homemade lacy dresses with cutsie buttons was not “cool.” I yearned for Guess jeans, LA Gear tennis shoes, shaving my legs and makeup. My mom did her best to hold it off…but eventually she had to give in. I can still remember my Guess jean jacket with a faded black lace pattern.

Then junior high hit. I remember LOVING my first day of school outfit. Peg-legged jeans with a purple shirt, matching elastic-banded purple socks, my hair piled into a high side pony tail with my matching purple hair scrunchie, purple earrings that looked like safety pins and white Keds. Oh, yea, and purple eye shadow. Ready for the big leagues.

How wrong I was. Yes, there were a fair number of girls dressed just like me. Color-coordination was the thing. But the “really cool” kids wore torn jeans, frumpy plaid button-up shirts, dark black eye makeup and the hair…high. Really high. How did they do that? It was like a lions mane.

I spent the next two years fighting my mom to let me dress like that. Trying so hard to make my straight, fine hair do that crazy mane thing. Following the pack as we all loved New Kids on the Block. Always a step behind.

My very best friend was always a fashionista. She did not try to look like the trend of the day, but created her own style. I would borrow her clothes and try to pull it off. But it didn’t work. It wasn’t me. Where did her confidence come from? How did she do it?

Around my sophomore year in high school I realized it was not happening. I started wearing baggy shirts and hiding myself in my clothes. I made sure the colors would not stand out. My fashion style became “don’t notice me, OK?”

Then I started putting on weight and the heavier I got; the more I wanted to hide.

The funny thing is, that I have always LOVED clothes. Even when I was 250 pounds and couldn’t wear anything remotely “in fashion.” Even though I’ve never had a “fashionable bone” in my body. I love and appreciate clothes.

When my first baby was born I often would go to the mall by my house. I would wear my son in a sling and just look. I would go into the stores sometimes just to feel a fabric or see a texture closer.

I still do that. But I rarely buy anything. I get clothes from places like Target and the thrift store. The most important qualification is that it fits and hides me. My favorite, and most worn clothing item is a big, black, safety-blanket sweater that swallows me up.

A few years ago I stumbled onto this TV show called “Project Runway.” I started recording all the episodes and would watch them when nobody was around. It was my little secret. Just finished the current season finale last night.

It’s hard for me to understand why I love this show and fashion in general. I’m something of a hippy/environmental girl. My birthday is Earth Day. My babies wore cloth diapers. I own lots of tie-dye. I recycle. I even have reusable paper-towels. So, yeah, I’m kinda serious about saving the earth.

Yet, I love fashion.

Here are the reasons I should NOT (and they are really good!):

First, the whole message the media sends to women about how they look is just WRONG. We are supposed to be thin, have white teeth, dress beautiful at all times, be perfect housewives/mothers/executives, never feed/eat any junk food and always act classy. So, so wrong. See the current JERK at Ambercrombie & Fitch.

Then there is the human element. In order for us to have all this cheap fashion, the companies that we buy clothes from outsource to countries where they exploit their workers. Just look at what happened recently with the garment factory in Bangladesh. 900 people died. That’s unacceptable.

Then there is the environmental impact. Rivers running red and horrific air pollution in China. All so we can have cheap t-shirts from Wal-Mart. Shame on us! Not to mention all the pollution in our own country. Synthetic fibers made primarily from petrochemicals. Water shortages. Pesticides. The list goes on and on.

So, where am I going with this?

I’m on a bit of self-discovery kick (if you hadn’t noticed).

For the last month, I’ve been on a hunt for my outfit for the Listen To Your Mother show. That’s right. A month.

My dear friend, the one that was always the fashionista, was in town and took me shopping. She tried so hard to help me see myself as beautiful. “To celebrate my curves.” I just couldn’t quite follow her. I tired.

Then I started going into the stores that I’ve always admired from afar and trying stuff on. I was so worried nothing would fit. I kept thinking, “You don’t belong in here.” But, I have to tell you, putting on a $350 dress can change a girl. Really. Now, I can’t afford said dress (even though I bought it, but later returned it). But I did realize a few things:

* I don’t have to wait to be skinny to wear nice things.

* I feel more confident when I put together an outfit that works.

* I am not condoning or ignoring what happened in Bangladesh/nor personally polluting the planet by buying a new dress.

I finally found a dress that I LOVE for the show. It’s flowy, pretty and a bit more affordable. I found some fun shoes too. They even have heels.

Now I don’t think I’m ever going to become a fashionista. And, really, I don’t want to. However, I do want to enjoy my clothes. I want to put something on and feel like it’s an extension of me; that it reflects who I am and what I’m about.

For the past week I’ve been paying attention to what I put on. I’ve been combining my clothes in ways that I think look nice. Wearing jewelry that has been stuffed in a box under my bed. And people are noticing. Not just my clothes, but me.

“What’s going on with you?”

“You are glowing.”

Taking a little time for myself in the morning is actually making a difference. I feel more confident and I’m standing up for my needs more. Good stuff.

Even though I may not like it, clothes make a statement about you to the world. You are judged by how you are put together. It’s a fact. It also says something about how you think of yourself. If you feel “worthy” of beautiful things. And I do.

I’d love to start researching American-made clothing and support local sewers. I want to invest in clothes that make me feel good and that I can feel no guilt about wearing. I found the, Ethical Fashion Forum, and plan to explore that further.

One of the fellow LTYM cast members just concluded a fabulous blog called Foxy Like a Crafter. Sad to find it now that she is done, but happy it’s there. I’m going to read/look at every post in time and see her journey. I admire her greatly and know I can learn from her.

As I grow and start accepting and loving myself, clothes are going to be a big part of that. And I want some help. So, help a girl out. Let me know where you get clothes. How did you find your style and what motivates you? Tips. Tricks. Share. I need you!

SIDE NOTE: When I first envisioned this blog, I thought I’d mostly be writing about my children and mothering. It’s funny how it’s turning into something else. I’m going with it, because I need to work through this stuff and get it out. Thanks to those reading and sticking with me. Much love.

Not my week. Wanted to get in my car and drive away. Far away. Leave all my chores unfinished. Even leave my kids. Not forever, mind you. Just until I could breathe again. Until I didn’t feel like I was buried alive. Maybe until someone told me how to fix things. Make it all OK again.

Totally self-centered behavior. Insane, really. I have friends that are going through some intense things. Hard, impossible things. Yet I complain and whine like a 2-year-old. Ugh.

While I’m still battling out of that dark place, I do see a light. I had moments yesterday that were so beautiful that I was brought to tears. Yet…that dark voice was still there. I still found time to complain and find fault. Double ugh.

So today I NEED to revel in the beauty. To magnify and focus on those moments of joy and love. To see the light.

My children attend a Waldorf school and part of the curriculum involves seasonal festivals. One of the most beautiful is May Day. Everyone comes dressed in white and makes crowns of flowers for their heads. It’s a celebration of spring, life and renewal.

The eighth graders perform the Maypole dance. No. Not that kind of pole. What’s wrong with you?

It’s an old tradition that dates back thousands of years. It always make me so happy to see these 13 and 14 year old kids, dressed in white, skipping and dancing. There is something so innocent and transformative about it.

When my mom arrived, I saw her from across the field. She looked beautiful. Dressed in a white gown with pearl buttons down the front and cute white sandals. Radiating love. My home. I flagged her down and then skipped, barefooted across the field to embrace her. “Your crazy,” she says. “I know.”

After the celebration we went to a wedding reception for my beautiful sister. Our relationship is hard to explain. We are not blood relatives, or even related by marriage, but circumstances have brought us together. She is one of the most radiant and upbeat people I have ever encountered. When she walked into the room, she glowed. Here she is with her new husband and her second mom. Magnificent.

My kids don’t know how to NOT create things. I wasn’t sure if I should be proud or horrified as they quickly rounded up supplies, including dirt from outside, to create new centerpieces for the table. And, yes, my boy wore a tank top to a wedding. It was a luau, and seeing as he didn’t have a Hawaiian shirt, he insisted he dress like he was going to the beach. Sigh.

Then my crazy kids just HAD to dance. Smiling. Laughing. Falling. They even laid in the middle of the floor making snow angels and giggling as the gold streamers tickled their faces.

Even though nobody else was dancing, Lola twirled around the room. She added some round-house kicks to her dance routine. She then grabbed my hand and led my out to the floor. We twirled and did silly kicks. Her smile was so huge. “Kick off those shoes so you can dance properly” she said. I did. We twirled and spun. Throwing our heads back we laughed.

Lead me Lola. Lead me out of darkness. I’ll follow you.

After the wedding, we went to grandmas. They wanted to spend the night. Bunk beds.  Digging in the dirt. Movies. Dog kisses. Blanket cuddles. Wrestling. Jokes.

Grandma led us outside to her oasis. “The baby birds have hatched.” Little beaks open to the sky. Feed me.

Yes. Feed me. Fill me up. I’m coming back…

Sometimes I look around at the world we live in and want to grab my children and run away. We could build ourselves a fortress in the middle of nowhere. Safe. Protected. Sheltered.

But then something happens and I’m reminded of the overwhelming beauty and love of people. And I want to be out in the world even more.

This weekend I walked in the Fair Oaks Relay for Life on the beautiful Sacramento Waldorf campus. Someone was walking from 9 a.m. Saturday to 9 a.m. Sunday. I can’t tell you how many laps I did on that track. I could barely walk the next day. But it was more than just walking.

Much more.

A woman who survived breast cancer wore a satin purple prom dress, purple dish gloves and leopard pants. Life radiated from her.

A mother, a survivor with a purple shirt, told me that her teenage son helped her through everything. He shyly smiled and grabbed her hand.

White bags decorated with the names of people who had lost the battle with cancer lined the track and gleamed love.

My children, filled with the excitement of life, darted in and out of the bags around and around the track.

Understanding and compassion filled my sons face as a woman read the story of a fairytale princess battling the dragon cancer.

After sunset the luminaries were lit and I carried my sleepy girl in my arms around the track. I could feel her warmth and life on my body as she kept kissing my neck softly.

A dear friend walked all night, limping and cold, but found inspiration from the messages on those simple bags and just kept putting one foot in front of the other.

My mom and I walked together around the track as the sun rose above the treetops, grateful to have each other.

As I walked around the track my feet ached and screamed at me, and I felt angry that I’ve let my body get this out of shape. But I kept moving, because I’m here and I can walk.

Teenagers joined together to walk in honor of their principal that died of brain cancer.

A woman shared her story of surgeries, fighting through pain, tubes coming out of her, her husband shaving his head to match hers, the hope and love she found.

All these people came together to celebrate life, remember lost love ones and raise money to fight back. I’m still filled with so much emotion and awe.

I often live in a place full of self-doubt, guilt, worry and fear. I’ve allowed these things to rule me.

Strength. Power. Endurance. Love. Hope. That’s where I want to live. Will you join me?

So today is my birthday and I’m feeling sentimental, sappy and very thankful. After an emotional/amazing weekend (I’ll post about that later), I focused on me today. It felt good.

So if you are turned off by cuteness. If lovey-dovey makes you run for the hills, then you might want to, um, click away. Perhaps to the hills.

Otherwise. Welcome.

Inspired by Jill’s two recent posts It’s Time To Get All Pollyanna Up In Here and Things That Make Me Happy…Cont’d, I’m sharing a bit of my day and the things that make me happy.

My sweet boy came in this morning with a big smile. He was so excited to give me my gift (a little hedgehog he knitted and wrapped himself):

Then after our Monday bacon, yum, we drove Cooper to school and headed to our friends house. My dear friend Christine made me this awesome water bottle (turtle, yes please!):

Lola and her buddy Drew took to the hammock:

Sweet Ollie made me laugh a hundred times, held my hand and created this in the sandbox:

Then I dropped my darling girl off at school and headed to the nail salon. Got some new shoes too:

Headed to school to pick up the kids and received all kinds of love from the beautiful mammas of Golden Valley. Even a card signed by all the kids in Coops class. Felt like a rock star.

Then pizza and sangria at Skipolini’s (if you haven’t been there, I’d HIGHLY recommend it). The food is pretty good:

And they have an outdoor playground, so I could just look at and talk to my man:

And sometimes she would visit:

Came home to flowers from my dad. And from my dear friends, this guy:

Husband is putting the kids to bed and then we are going to snuggle and watch a movie. So yeah. 36 is looking good my friends. Very good, indeed.

The first time I was touched by cancer was in 1997. My husband’s boss, mentor and best friend was diagnosed with lung cancer. He was a wonderful man and like a father to my husband. We were young and he was so patient and loving with us. He was the best man at our wedding in 1999. He was bald from the chemo and it was a difficult evening for him. It was so hard to watch him struggle. He died less than a year later.

I hate the ‘C’ word and, like many, live in fear of it touching me or one of my dearest. That is why I’m doing something about it this weekend. I, along with 4 million people around the planet, will come together to Celebrate, Remember and Fight back at the American Cancer Society Relay for Life.

The event is about celebrating birthdays of those that are fighting and winning the fight.

My next-door neighbor of ten years, a very sweet man that my kids call grandpa, was diagnosed with bladder cancer last year. Even as he went through chemo and a few surgeries, he remained optimistic and always had his bowl of lollipops ready anytime the kids saw him outside. He decided against a very drastic surgery, ordered some special herbs from Canada and has been cancer free for about six months.

This loving man lost his own son to a brain tumor. It was sudden. No warning. His son had two young girls at the time. There is a beautiful picture of his son that hangs in the den of their home. It was taken the week he died. He is holding his baby girl and pushing the other in the swings. He looks so alive and young. This loving grandpa, through tears, told me that he could not die because his granddaughters were not grown yet. One granddaughter’s goal is to be a doctor and fight cancer.

So, I will bring my kids this weekend and we will walk. From 9 a.m. Saturday to 9 a.m. Sunday. There will be bands playing, silly contests like hula-hoops and three legged races and a chili cook-off. And we will celebrate life and I will remember those that I have lost. I will think about those that are fighting right now to live while I comfortably type this. I will be thankful for all I have. I will love all those around me.

My birthday is Monday and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate. So if you don’t have plans Saturday, come to Sacramento Waldorf School to see me, celebrate my birthday and walk with me a bit. I’ll have a hug and a smile waiting for you.

For more details or to donate: http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR?fr_id=48890&pg=entry