I had started this blog with a story to tell: the story of our family’s experiences stemming from my daughter’s serious eating disorder. The story started almost three years ago with the shocking realization that Guzzy was critically ill with a diagnoses of severe anorexia, which led to multiple hospitalizations; failed treatments; days of desperation; long weeks and months of re-feeding; the slow climb to weight restoration; the even slower climb to brain function restoration; and of her gradual reclamation of life.
Now; our paths are diverging–as mother/daughter stories must do. Guzzy is a young woman now: making more of her own choices; dealing with the stresses of life, relationships, jobs, etc. and she is taking ownership of her remaining recovery journey. For her — that is part of growing up. For me — it is part of letting go.
It isn’t easy: She lives with us, and as I have told her: a large part of the ‘mom’ job description is to worry; a tendency that is heightened by her history. We are navigating the seas of her increased independence together.
I tend to be more practical than fancy in my clothing choices: preferring clothes that fit well and are comfortable over more stylish, uncomfortable, options. I have already written about my particular distaste for high heels; due to the discomfort and the actual physical damage wrought upon my calves and toes.
However, I generally strive to not embarrass myself or my companions with my appearance and/or apparel; and while I am usually successful, there have been some notable exceptions.
Some days I go right from work to the tennis court; having packed my tennis gear the evening before. I occasionally forget something and have to improvise. Over the years I have played with a demo racket; bought an ’emergency’ , expensive pair of shoes; played in my sketchers; played in my yoga pants; and I’ve played many matches in a non-sports friendly bra.
On a recent Thursday evening I arrived at the club and discovered I had no shorts or skirt. Helen is one of the ladies I play with on Thursday evenings; she is a statuesque Russian woman who keeps several tennis outfits in her locker at the club. When she learned of my plight, Helen kindly loaned me one of her tennis dresses.
If Helen and I were in one of those ads: “Who wore it better?” with side-by-side pictures, you would have seen a beautiful and lanky Helen looking lovely in a well-fitting tennis dress that rests mid-way on her thighs; next to a picture of what looks like an 8 year old girl with glasses, boobs and varicose veins wearing her mom’s dress that is down to her knees. (In retrospect, this may have been a good opportunity to buy a new skirt at the club.)
Then there is the matter of my general clumsiness and lack of care when eating; my particular nemesis is drinking coffee out of a carry-out cup, which frequently results in unfortunate incidents. One recent morning my boss looking at me oddly and (kindly) advised that I was sporting a rather large coffee stain on my blouse. It’s nice having a woman boss who can appreciate that ‘the girls’ sometimes get in the way of a good cup of joe.
As a final tip (especially for curvy girls): it’s wise to have a sweater or jacket available at all times — its a great cover up for stains