Archive: October 2008

This week is Spirit Week at JG’s school, and he wasn’t sure about taking part in the theme days because student participation is generally low. He forgot to bring his slippers for Pajama Day, and Harry Potter/Pirate Day seemed silly to him. There was, however, Clash Day.

“I’m thinking of wearing The Pants,” he said.

“The Pants” — yes, capitalized — refers to one specific garment.  I don’t remember exactly when I encountered The Pants; I only know that I have been aware of their existence for as long as I have known JG. This legendary item of clothing belonged to JG’s late grandfather, Mimi’s husband. They were his golf pants, straight out of the seventies, with a brown patchwork pattern and a rather slim fit. Over the years, The Pants have made appearances in camp skits and Halloween costumes, but it had been a while since their last unveiling.

I was a little dubious. I didn’t want JG to be The One Crazy Teacher with his insane outfit while the rest of the school looked normal. One of the student teachers at my high school went all out on a spectacular vampire costume for Halloween, and when we all appeared in regular clothes, he asked sheepishly, “You guys don’t dress up here?”

“Maybe you could just bring them in and change if people are dressed up,” I suggested.

“No, I think I should just do it. I feel like I’m kind of paying homage to Pop Pop whenever I wear them.”

“Okay, whatever you want.” I waved him off and went back to heating up dinner. If he wanted to wear The Pants, who was I to stop him?  They were awesomely awful.

“I need your opinion on this,” JG called up from the bedroom. “I think they’re a little tight.”

Oh, dear. Tight, polyester pants from the disco era might not be appropriate for school.

“Like how tight?” I asked as he came upstairs. “Can you sit down?”

“Yeah. I mean, I just can’t put my wallet in the back pocket.”

“Well, I guess you’re fine, then. What else will you wear with it?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe that blue striped shirt we got over the summer?”

I nodded. “And a tie would be good. The gray and pink one.”

“Yeah, that’ll look pretty awful.”

Oh, it did.

But it was a huge hit at school. Word spread, and even students he had never had in class stopped by to see him. It was just another example of the power of The Pants. I think Pop Pop would be proud.

Shortly after I published my last post, JG IMed me to see if I was okay, and I became all weepy and emotional. I finally realized that I had put a lot of stock in this first week of non-volleyball status. “I thought things would be easier,” I typed, “but they aren’t.” By the end of the conversation, JG persuaded me to take a sick day the next day, if only for my sanity. I could take care of my to-do list and sleep in, he reasoned. Fine, fine.

That night, at the climbing gym, a strange, woozy feeling crept up into my head. The next morning, I woke up with an inferno of a sore throat, and my head was stuffed with pink insulation. What do you know — I was sick. A would-be mental health day turned into a full-blown sick day, and I left scratchy messages for my boss and as my outgoing voicemail. I spent the day swathed in my Slanket, eating toast and drinking tea, and overdosing on cooking and design shows. If I had not been fighting a raging cold, it would have been heavenly.

Today, my cold persists, although it has progressed from my throat to my nose. I hate to admit it, but I should have interpreted my fatigue as an indicator to take a break. My body just about slammed me down and held me in a headlock until I agreed, snuffling all the way.

In other news, happy Mole Day! I regret that I can’t relish in the geekdom properly, but the least I can do is pass along the cheer.

I should be able to cross things off my to-do list for the house every weekend, even if friends come over at the spur of the moment, or if I am not feeling well.

I should be able to get out of bed without a battle of wills because I managed to do so while I worked toward my 5K.

I should not need to reconcile the disparity between what my life is and how I pictured it would be.

I should be serenely content with what I have and where I am, because I should be confident that my self-assurance does not depend on my location or my surroundings.

I should not be so tired now because my husband’s schedule allows him to pick up some of the slack.

I should work on an advanced degree, because every year that passes without progress brings me closer to betraying what I thought my potential was.

I should write and publish something eloquent, pithy, and resonant every day.

I should assume that my fatigue is psychosomatic, my complaints are ill founded, and my sensitivity is too close to the surface.

I should not struggle with small stressors.

I should be fine.

Is it just me or is this month (heck, the year!) flying by?  Before you know it, we’ll sit down to Thanksgiving dinner and, despite the state of the economy, join the flurry of holiday-driven, all-American consumerism.  And then it will be 2009.  Let me repeat: two thousand nine.  Holy Moses.

All of that is to say that the fact that it was about time for a midpoint check-in for the October edition of Mission: Put Together sort of caught me unaware.  I love a status report as much as the next guy (okay, probably more), but I was not exactly prepared with statistics in hand. But was it really worth it to click through every picture and count views and comments?  I wasn’t sure.  Thus, I am pleased to usher in a less quantitative, more high-level, yet equally quirky midpoint check-in.  I trust that folks will understand.

In lieu of hard numbers, the Flickr group has grown!

• Since May, the group has gained 21 members for a total of 56.
• As of press time, members have added 204 photos since October 1 for a total of 643. Yow!

So far, it appears that three trends have risen to the surface:

In other news, we have yet to see signs of purging or donating, and I take full responsibility for my lack.  I have a disorderly pile of donations that I still need to sort, document, and bag, but it is on the list for Saturday afternoon, so help me.  Again, there is no pressure to donate, but we are here to support you in giving up your beloved homecoming dress from 1999, but not before capturing photographic evidence!  Heh.

In all seriousness, the mission is clearly in good hands.  Fashionistas, I salute you.