Fancy Accomplished! (Babble)

I went to the military ball and I did not wear yoga pants.  It took days of shopping and searching but I finally found a dress.

Two, actually.  In the Third Ward area of Milwaukee there are a few cute little dress shops, and in one boutique there was a single dress that fit me, but the pattern on the fabric wasn’t right for the occasion.  I’ve decided to go back and buy it anyway because now that I know just how hard it is for me to find a decent dress that fits I should grab it while I can so that way I will know I have two dresses to choose from in my closet if I need something.

Shopping in the boutiques was funny because my size 12 to 14 self was so big there, looking through the size 4 dresses, but the salesladies were all so sweet.  When I say there was one dress that fit me in that store, I mean it was the only thing labeled ‘large’ and it was of a stretchy, forgiving material that worked on me.  But the salesperson wanted me to have options so she handed me a couple of other cute things to try.  One was labeled a size six, and the other an eight.  I looked at her like she was delusional, and she said, “Oh, just try them anyway, you never know.”  But you know what I know?  I am not a six.  It was like trying to get one of Mona’s outfits on, which was kind of hilarious.  Either that salesgirl was paying me some kind of ‘but you look like you could wear a six!’ compliment, or she really couldn’t fathom a size six was small for some people.  Anyway, I’m going back for the one large dress when I have a minute.

The place where I got the dress I wore to the mil ball was called Lela.  The salesperson found several dresses for me to try, and the one I bought I wouldn’t have picked up on my own, but she thought it would work.  She didn’t even laugh at me when I accidentally put it on backwards the first time so she earned her commission.

Anyway, the dress is nice and simple, and cut in a way that I didn’t feel like I had to suck in my stomach.  The sleeves are comfortable enough that I could play viola in this dress if I ever needed to, and since there are no zippers or buttons up the back or sides it should still fit just fine if I’m able to keep losing weight.  I’m really happy to have found this dress!

(photo before the ball by Carol Kraco)
And doesn’t Ian look handsome in his uniform?  (The dog didn’t think so.  He just kept barking at Ian as if he’d never seen him before.  The dog is cute, but apparently not very bright.  Or maybe we’re missing something since we don’t view everything from ankle height.)

The mil ball itself was fine.  I haven’t been to one probably since Quinn was born, but they are all remarkably similar.  There are lots of people in uniform, dry chicken to eat, the symbolic empty table with a candle and a rose for soldiers who are missing, and speeches.  It was nice to meet the people Ian works with, but the room was very cold.  About a third of the women had put their coats on by the time dessert was served.
The main thing that was different this time was the perspective. 

The first military ball I attended with Ian was in 1991.  He was a cadet and I was the out of place girl on his arm in a recycled prom dress.  We were seated very far from anywhere and we could see the important people at the head table finishing their meals before we even got our salads.

Twenty years later we’re now at the head table, eating first and chatting with a General on one side and a Colonel on the other.  For Ian it’s a measure of his level of accomplishment, but for me it’s not that big a difference even though I appreciated not having to wait to eat.

The guest speaker was General Seward who was very nice and according to the program had a list of military awards and accolades as long as my arm.  (Although he informed me he also plays the bagpipes, but that wasn’t on the list.)  The Army is not my world so I’m not awed by rank and I can talk to anyone.  The General asked me about violin making and I answered the standard questions the way I usually do.  (When Ian and I go to military gatherings I end up talking a great deal because at least what I do is different.  When Ian comes with me to violin maker events, he does much of the talking because he’s the only soldier and people are fascinated.) 

After the General took his obligatory tour of the room he came back to our table and declared me the most interesting person at the event.  I was probably the only person who wasn’t scared to talk to him which would skew his perception, but who knows?  Ian still thinks I’m interesting after more than twenty years together, so maybe I could flatter myself into believing it’s true.

It was nice having a night out with just Ian, and it was good to go out in clothes that didn’t have wood shavings on them for a change.  But I have to say, the best part of the day was a few hours before we left for the ball.  Ian had to sew a couple of things onto his uniform, and I decided to paint all my nails.  So we hung out on the bed together while we attended to our little tasks and watched sitcoms on my laptop.  We tend to divide and conquer in order to get things done because it’s more efficient and there is so much to do, and as a result we seldom really have time to just be together doing not much of anything.  It was nice.  (Because after more than twenty years, a bunch of military balls, and three children later, I know I still find my husband the most interesting person in the room.)
(One more photo by Carol)

Fancy (Babble)

I am not a fancy person.  I like certain things to be nice and I appreciate attractive surroundings, but when it comes to my own appearance I have a limited range of sartorial choices that make me comfortable.  I’m a jeans and t-shirt kind of person.  I like to have pockets, I like my wrists unencumbered by cuffs or bracelets, I like things that are simple, and I like clothes that don’t inhibit the activities I enjoy like building violins, baking, or getting on the floor to play a game with my kids.

When I try to wear decent clothes I’m self-conscious.  I keep checking and double checking everything if the way the clothes rest on my body doesn’t feel familiar.  I’ve tried to accessorize with a pretty scarf or shawl but I keep moving it or pulling at it or shifting it around and it’s not worth the distraction.

I don’t iron or dry clean.  I don’t wear makeup.  I don’t even have pierced ears.
I admire people who look put together.  I find fashion interesting, and I have opinions and preferences, but most of it stops before it reaches my own personal self.  I’m not elegant.  To pull that off you have to make it seem effortless, or at least natural, and that’s just not me.


Luckily, being a self-employed adult in charge of my own itinerary, I make lifestyle choices where jeans and a t-shirt works most of the time.  I only really need to dress up to play concerts, so I have a collection of black clothes that are comfortable to perform in and look nice enough on stage.

But every once in awhile something comes up and I realize what a hopeless shambles my wardrobe really is.  Between changes in my weight and my indifference to clothes shopping there is nothing decent in my closet if I need to look nice.

And this weekend I’m accompanying Ian to a military ball.  Ha.

Not that anyone there will care how I look as long as I make some vague effort to appear respectable, but I’d like to feel pretty.  I’d like to make Ian proud as he wears his dress blues with his medals pinned on his chest.  I’d like to have one, decent, dare I say elegant, dress to wear.

I imagine shopping for clothes if you have a body that fits into things could be fun.  But I am too big on top for most of what’s out there, and there are few things more demoralizing than trying on one thing after another that won’t zip or that makes your butt look bad or your legs too weird or your whole body just seem wrong.  I spent an entire morning with a patient friend trying on dresses at the mall and by the end of it I felt as if all my efforts to lose weight have been pointless and I should just eat cheesecake, wear sweatpants, and never look in the mirror again.

The last time I needed a fancy dress at a time when nothing fit was for a cousin’s wedding several years ago.  I had just had a miscarriage and I was supposed to play solo viola for the ceremony.  (I was still bleeding during the event, and Aden and Mona were flower girls, and that whole day was a dizzying cacophony of emotions for me.)  I actually wound up sewing myself something a few days before the wedding.  I didn’t use a pattern, I just found some pretty material and made it up.  I have no idea if it looked okay, but I was not in a mental state to completely care.  (I hope I looked okay.  If I’m feeling brave later I may dig through a photo album and see.)

I don’t have the time or energy to try that this time.  I’m at the mercy of what stores have to offer.  My fall back plan will be something from the ever present collection of black things.

Speaking of concert wear, this past weekend my girls had a violin recital.  They did beautifully.  I was nervous for Mona after last year, but she simply got up in front of the room, cranked out Ode To Joy the best she’d ever done it, and smiled sweetly as she took her seat again.  Aden did a lovely job as well, and Quinn was about as good as you could ask a five year old to be at an hour long violin recital.  It was a really good day.

The only hitch was about half an hour before we were supposed to leave and I told Mona it was time to put on something nice.  She balked.

Both of my girls were big into fancy dresses when they were little.  They wore Easter and Christmas dresses all year round, always looking as if it were picture day as they set off for school.  A few years ago Aden started gravitating away from dresses, but still has a few for special occasions, and she had no trouble finding a nice one for the recital.
But not Mona.  Mona had on leggings and a long sleeved shirt and wanted to know why it wasn’t good enough.

I explained that the clothes you choose to wear say something as clearly as if you were holding a sign.  A police uniform means something different from painting clothes means something different from a wedding gown.  I told her by dressing nicely for the recital it was a way of acknowledging all the hard work everyone had done to prepare for it by showing it was special.  If she dressed like it was any other day, it was like saying the recital wasn’t important.  She needed to wear something fancy.

She fussed and she fumed, but she understood my explanation.  She started digging through her closet.  The main thing we discovered is that Mona has grown since the last time she had to wear something dressy, and nothing zipped or buttoned.  She looked stricken as one outfit after another was set aside for Goodwill, but eventually we found something new that had been a gift from a friend but not worn yet, and it was perfect.  Mona looked pleased despite herself.  It was a nice dress, comfortable, with pretty colors.  I let her wear it right over her regular outfit so underneath she would just feel like herself.
As I knelt down on the floor behind her, carefully doing up the buttons, Mona said to me quietly, “I don’t like to be fancy.”

You and me both, sweetheart.  You and me both.