Tales of the Ordinary Days

"Made by Mary" tag proudly sewn on inside of pajama top (Brutus to my right. Photo cred Garrett) My mom made my jammies and I love them. I love them a lot. Enough that I packed them for our last out-of-town trip, and most trips for that matter. They are my cozy, go-to, favorite nightwear. Typically paired with a fluffy sweatshirt or furry slippers, this black flowered combo is starting to show some wear, but will likely be falling apart before I part with them. As a child, my mom sewed a majority of my clothing. Having store-bought clothes was rare and only for special occasions or items too difficult or expensive to sew (winter coats, socks, sweaters...). This was such a norm in my life that until junior high, I didn't know other kids bought a majority of their clothing. My mom would spend hours going through bolts of material, carefully planning our next season wardrobes and choosing patterns to complement our sizes and personalities. Wardrobe by mom My fon

Ben getting a haircut in the backyard of our first home (Little Tykes toys, long gone...Grandma's homemade jammies, some kept in basement storage) Today I drove by my old house. Really old, as we haven't lived there in eighteen years. There wasn't any one thing that motivated me to do this, other than a recent sentiment of touching pieces of my past as I look to the future. I often think back to a parting conversation I had with my divorce attorney. It was a remark he said in passing, one that typically would have slipped my memory quickly. But ten years has passed and his words are burned in my brain. "You will remarry and be happy. I am sure of it. You're a traditionalist and will find your happy home again." I have often wondered which of my behaviors deemed me a traditionalist and not a trendsetter in his mind. Why conventional was seen as my future and not edgy? Did I ultimately fulfill this prediction? On the surface, one could say no. B