Nie Nie Day

I miss this goose.

I've been really unsure about how I could participate in Nie Nie Day. After all, I don't even know her besides a degree or two of separation.

I do know there are some lovely silent auctions being held here and here and (look here for more). But I've been a bit preoccupied with my own family's health issues to gather auction items or to make any myself. And, let's be honest, what would I make? A sandwich?

So I thought about intangible items I could auction at my site, but I just didn't think anyone would want to bid on my keen wit. (I still have it, don't I?) And offering to guest blog for a price sounded conceited, but writing is my one TALENT in the conventional sense. (Apparently, dainty toes do not count.)

Anyway, I decided that the best I can offer is my compassion. And it's free to all of you, but most especially to Nie. Something about the level of pain and the extent of physical scarring she'll endure seems so disturbing when juxtaposed with her jovial personality and dedication to beauty, which we saw daily on her blog. Not to mention the pain we feel for her husband who is experiencing a similar trial, and for their four children who are temporarily orphaned - though in great, familiar hands.

Like most of you, my mind has been haunted by thoughts of what she felt during the crash, the pain she suffered in the flames and the excruciating physical and mental journey she has ahead, assuming all goes well. The trials she and her family are experiencing have given me a retroactive love for her blog, which I merely enjoyed before. It's helped me learn a few things:

1. Life is beautiful even when it's boring or monotonous. We need to appreciate the present because it's the only thing we can count on, so make every day special.

2. Take pictures! Even of yourself on a fat day/bad-hair day/frumpy day. You might surprise yourself at how beautiful and confident you'll look a year from now. Plus, your posterity will have lots to remember you by.

3. Treasure your children. Have lots of children. Be the mom you are naturally, not the mom you think you should be.

4. Have an affair with your spouse.

5. Wear more red lipstick. Or, in my case, buy some red lipstick. Life is too short for taupe.


What have you learned from Nie?

Life is still beautiful

Since I started blogging, I've received news of several tragedies - some of true friends who spread the news on their blogs, some from people I only know through their blogs, and some of people I've met after their traumatic experiences.

The latter happened to me last night, like it probably did to all of you, when I found out that Stephanie and Christian of "Nienie" fame were in a private plane crash and fighting for their lives.

I don't know Stephanie personally, and I've only met Christian a few times, but I do know that they are parents to four small children - and that they have a unique passion for life and finding its dramatic charm. (Even if it made some of our homes look awfully average.)

So I'm praying for them and hoping for the best. I'm sure you are, too.

Do I feel completely unjustified in posting about them when they aren't my family or even my friends? Yes. Is it still weighing heavily on my mind? Yes.

It's hard to not feel like tragedy is raining down on our world between the recent experiences in my family, world affairs and roundabout news like this. Maybe it's being an adult. Maybe it's modern communications. Maybe it's the end of the world.

But this I know - there always still hope. While one person lies in a hospital, another lies there bringing new life into this world. It's tempting to stop living for fear of all the things that can happen to us, but as NieNie showed us, you have to keep believing in beautiful things.




... unfortunately, I'm not so sure that my hair is one of them. So that pic will have to wait for another day and lighter post fare.

Right now (not a Van Halen tribute)

Right now, I am looking out my window at a cloud that looks like it will deliver a weather whoopin'. To say I'm frustrated with Midwestern weather would be an understatement. We get a few perfect days each year, but the rest are either frigid and flurry-filled or sticky and stormy. (I know that alliteration is really overused these days, but my true calling in life is to be a card writer. I am NOT kidding. If anyone has connections with a telecommuting card writing job, please email me. I have a hilarious idea for a Rosh Hashannah card. Again, I'm NOT kidding here. It involves a talking calendar.)

Right now, I am not wondering why they call it hand-foot-mouth disease, because one look at Miss Dub confirms the name's inspiration. She has sores on her hands, feet and mouth. So I guess if I had any suggestion for the disease namers, it would be to call it hands-feet-mouth disease, because the sores have been no way limited themselves to one side of her body, and the name is sort of misleading in that regard.

Right now, I'm hoping that none of your children has hand-foot-mouth disease, because Miss Dub probably gave it to them. Probably through the Internet. It is very contagious for, like, three weeks, which means we are going to be watching an inordinate amount of children's TV, because I just cannot think of 10 hours of indoor activities each day.

Right now, I'm trying to figure out a way to enforce our no "Caillou" rule. That whiny brat is way more annoying than educational. Also, his mom wears clothes that are not flattering to her figure.

Right now, I am watching a young Justin Timberlake sing to Elmo on an old episode of "Sesame Street." I'm wondering how someone with such a high vocal range has been able to score such beautiful girlfriends. Then again, besides Britney, his lady friends are on the sinewy, masculine side. And we all know Britney isn't even human, but part of some fedora-wearing alien species who probably live on the same planet as suspender-wearing animals. (Why must chimps always wear suspenders?)

Right now, I'm wondering who would win in a street fight - a taco or a grilled cheese sandwich.

What are you thinking about right now?

Mormon musings

As most of you know, I'm a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Some people call us Mormons, which is great since it's a shorter moniker and not offensive.

If you've ever admired my sense of optimism, cheerful attitude and kindness, you should know it has everything to do with my faith. If you've ever criticized my negativity, crudeness or ignorance, you should know it has nothing to do with my faith.

But most importantly, you should know how important my faith is to me. It gives me clarity and understanding in a contentious world. It gives me peace amid chaos. It gives me direction and purpose instead of confusion. And, most gloriously, it gives me hope.

Hope has come in handy lately. Life hasn't been easy this past year, and without a moral compass to guide me, I might have gotten lost in my grief. Instead, I found sweetness in the most bitter of trials. How thankful I am for that.

Still, I have a lot more that I can do. I realized recently that being a mom has actually drawn me away from my spiritual pursuits. While I am closer to God in many ways due to the sacred charge of raising my daughter(s), I am also busier, more stressed and more tired - not to mention more focused on others than myself. While that's all admirable, I've used it as an excuse to go through my spiritual motions without really experiencing them.

But lately I've felt like getting raw - really stripping down to my spiritual bones and thinking about life; about my purpose; about what the Lord wants me to do in this life. I'm not going to lie, it almost made me wet my pants. Opening your heart to what you are supposed to do - not what you want to do, not what's convenient, and most certainly not what's socially acceptable - is scary. Sometimes we have to be very vulnerable to become powerful.

I don't know what the next few months will hold for me or my loved ones. There are some tough times ahead for lots of us, and I plan to face them head-on and head held high. No matter what I am asked to do or experience, I know I will be doing what is right for me. I will be trusting in Christ and counting on his sacrifice to help assuage my fears.

It might sound like mumbo-jumbo to you non-religious folk out there, but I know it's true. I'd honestly be less surprised if the sun didn't rise tomorrow than if my faith were founded on false doctrine or prophets. I believe it. I know it.

Anyway, that's what I wanted to say today.

Also, I love carbohydrates.

Amen.

Due Date

Dear Zee,

Happy un-Birthday! You were supposed to be born this day. Then again, most babies aren't born on their due dates, and you weren't any different - except that instead of coming a couple weeks early like your sister, you came four months early ... and you only stayed for a minute.

At one point in my pregnancy, they moved your due date back a few days, but I just knew you wouldn't be a July baby. I assumed you would be born in June, which has made this month very bittersweet for me. But the more I think about it, you were always meant to be a February baby. Now, you share a birthday month with your dad and your aunt. Now, celebrating your special day will bring me sunshine during a month that is often gray.

Still, I have some regrets about our pregnancy - like how I focused too much on the pain and complications and not enough on your little kicks and subtle growth; how I complained more about the intense nausea and fatigue instead of marveling at the miracle of it all. I still feel bad that I had to deliver you before your little body had given in to its unique composition. But for just a moment, you got to experience life on earth, so maybe you didn't mind coming out so soon.

I wish that you could have stayed. I wish that you could have been born today, and that I could have taken you home from the hospital. I wish that I could watch you grow up and decide if you like tomatoes. (Your Dad and I do not.) I wish that you could be my baby on earth, but that's not what you were destined to be. You are my baby in heaven; I was merely a surrogate to help you get the body you needed to move forward eternally. In return, you touched my life - so many lives - in a way that cannot be measured in birthdays. You are priceless.

I miss you.

I love you.

Forever,
Your Mom

p.s. If you see a brother or sister hanging around, tell them to come on down!

Tune of thought

Excuse me if I'm not myself today, but I recently found out that Beck is a Scientologist, and I need some time to take it in.

In other music news, Mr. Dub recently introduced me to Blonde Redhead, and there is no turning back. Bliss in melodic form, my friends.

Finally, in self-congratulatory non-news, remember Eliza? Well, my quarterly column is getting rave reviews from up to five people. Want to make it 10? Go here and find a place to buy the summer issue, which - according to mass amounts of emails I've received - is Eliza's best yet. Do it.

Or you could live life like Kenny Rogers and post a comment about why you should receive a free Eliza subscription. Leave your remarks by midnight Sunday (CST), and you might be a winner.

Now, what's on your mind?

For my SAHMs

I've thought about this a lot, but what do you think is the greatest perk of being a stay-at-home mom, aside from the whole be-with-your-chittlins-all-day thing?

After some consideration, I've decided it's spending more time outdoors. OK, in the winter this isn't really a perk - it's a punishment - but I still get a chance to see the sky a lot more than I did when I worked full-time.

In the summer, our life is spent outdoors. Last week, I put on makeup twice because we spent a huge chunk of each day at the pool or a park or another outdoor arena. Miss Dub and I are already sporting wicked tan lines. (I'm not proud of this. I'm becoming part-iguana with my nasty leather hide.)

Some days I feel guilty. When Mr. Dub heads off to work for another busy day of reports and meetings, I say things like, "Yeah, our day is going to be busy, too. We're going to swim in the morning, then have lunch with friends, then head to a park." As if he should be grateful!

It's not totally fair, but there are entire days in the winter when I don't speak a word to an adult and change 5+ diapers full of reconstituted food ... so I guess it balances out.

Plus, when I start to feel guilty that my life is largely creating fun experiences for my child - I remember that I would never forgive myself if I stayed home and focused only on myself. I'm not staying home to swim; I'm staying home to teach Miss Dub to swim. To show her the beauty of a blue sky. To teach her water etiquette. To point out the letters and shapes and sounds we see on the way to the pool. It's all part of a greater educational experience - and I'm lucky enough to be her teacher.

But it's pretty cool that we get to do it outside.

Next stop: linens

I have this recurring fantasy that I suddenly come into so much money that I actually leave my house, turn the key and never look back ... meaning I have to buy everything brand new - clothes, shoes, housewares, furniture. And this time, I make better choices. It's sort of along the lines of my fantasy where I get married again (to the same guy) and get to redo my wedding and registry.

It has occurred to me that doing all that shopping at once could actually be annoying, as well as the fact that I would need to take some important documents and family mementos with me. But seriously, why are you all raining on my dream? Just think of the matching appliances.

What's your secret fantasy*? You know, the clean kind.


* It is probably in your best interest to ignore the Google ads generated by this post.

Really?

Is anyone else surprised by how many people still have "Baby on Board" signs on their cars?

Calling all coupons!

"Please don't blog about my bowels."

So I've been thinking about coupons lately. I mean, I'm someone who prides herself on being frugal - if your definition of frugal is buying way too much cheap stuff - so I don't know why I haven't considered coupons. Probably because it sounds like a pain - clipping them, remembering them, standing in line an extra five minute while my cashier tries to understand them.

But it's come to my attention that I like money and the things that it buys. Thenceforth and heretososeems, I should try and save my money for important things like shoes and not waste it on silly items like bread and milk.

But where does one begin to coupon? Do you still clip them or is it all online? (I feel like a senior citizen trying to send a text message.)

Is it worth it?

Also, is anyone giving out money? Because I like that idea even better.

We'd make beautiful children

It's official: I have a girl crush on Tina Fey - even though Mr. Dub has technically forbidden me from saying "girl crush." I've explained to him that it doesn't mean I want to kiss her; I just want to date her. And I would probably stress about my outfit and witty dinner conversation just like I did when we were courting. Because she is fabulously talented. I cannot get enough of "30 Rock." I didn't give the show a fair chance last year, ditching it from our DVR listings after a weak pilot, but I've thankfully had a chance to catch back up, and I'm in humor heaven. I dare say I like it better than "The Office." Call that blasphemous, but you are talking to a woman in love ... with a woman ... just not like that.

(Maybe obsession would be a better word than girl crush, although that has similarly freaky connotations, like wanting to steal her footwear, and I'm just not into sneakers.)

But one girl crush I refuse to abandon is the one I have on Björk. How could someone not? And as I explained to Mr. Dub, he can't be threatened by this crush. As I tell him, "Björk isn't even human; she's Icelandic."

Attention: Pay attention

The other day I was feel a little stressed out. It's not like I'm busy curing cancer or anything - oh, how I wish! - but I have my fair share of play dates, church meetings and household responsibilities to keep my days quite full. Sometimes I feel like I'm going at 100 mph.

At the same time, Miss Dub's behavior is becoming almost laughable, if it wasn't so cryable. She's been whining, hitting, biting, begging, you name it, but no, not that. She's just not happy unless I'm giving her constant attention, which sort of makes my fair share of stuff hard to accomplish.

As I pondered over the two issues, I thought of two things: First, I need to live in the moment. Perhaps Miss Dub demands my constant attention because she never gets my total attention. I've been known to cuddle and pay bills online at the same time. I've been known to read a book to her while thinking of my next household task. I've even perused a catalog out of the corner of my eye while playing dolls with her. And while multitasking might be fulfilling for me, I think it's leaving Miss Dub feeling half-empty.

Second, I need to stop over-scheduling myself, even when they are good things. Service is great, but when I'm serving others more than I'm serving my own family, it's not so hot. I need to remember that NOW is my time to be a mom; My time to wow everyone with surprise dinners and a willingness to drop everything in a moment's notice can come later. For now, an occasional casserole - (mental note: learn to make a casserole) - will have to do. Even a friend in need comes second to a daughter who needs me.

This is all easier said than done. Making it through the day without a temper tantrum doesn't sound quite as satisfying as refurbishing a side table. And helping someone out usually sounds more important than reading Goodnight Moon for the 20th time. Although, when it says, "Goodnight stars, goodnight air," I always get the chills.

So here's my pledge to be a better mom - one who "[treasures] the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less."*

(*Quote by Anna Quindlen as quoted here. I know I totally Ballard-ized this whole concept, but can you blame me? That talk was gooood!)



.... and a Happy B-'licious-day to Mrs. Jay, Darren Lees, Lisa Parker, Mark Lambert and Angie Earl. But mostly Mrs. Jay.

Still under it

I'm sure some of you are growing weary of me talking about Baby Zee. You might think I'm bitter or overreacting. You might think I should be over it already.

But I'm not.

I still cry. I still think about her. I still walk through the baby section at Target and feel a bit disoriented. I still obsess about having another baby, even though I have to wait 6-12 months to make sure I don't have placental cancer.

Like any life experience, I've suddenly met tons of people who have experienced infant loss, both recently and long ago. As we've talked, I've noticed a few common emotions and experiences that I'd thought I'd share to help people understand us better.

First, we want to celebrate our baby's life, no matter how short, and that doesn't mean hushed conversations when the moment is just right. It's not that we don't appreciate your sympathy and reverence, it's just that we're not always sad about our babies. Sometimes we feel proud or nostalgic. Often times I just want to vent about my recent pregnancy - "the nausea was the worst!" - without bringing everyone to an awkward silence. I feel like I have to hold myself back from making others feel uncomfortable.

Also, we want people to acknowledge our children and give us credit for their existence. (Labor is labor, people!) We don't want you to avoid the topic or dance around the details. Even if it drudges up some emotions, we're grateful for the chance to share. But please do not tell us that our babies are "mistakes" or "accidents of nature," or that their deaths are "really for the best." Let us make those judgment calls.

Now, I'm not speaking to any of my friends or family so stop wondering. And do not call me! (That means you, Mom.) I'm not depressed, though the experience does make me melancholy at times. I'm not taking this any harder than anyone else in my situation would. And I'm not refusing to move forward; I'm just insisting on taking my memories with me.

Because what I'm experiencing is normal, even though I can never really be a normal mom again. But no one really makes it through motherhood unscathed. I mean, your son might get into role-playing games, so we all have our challenges. I just don't want to be rushed through mine.

From the department of "Whaaat?"

Did you know that Dooce makes an estimated $40,000 a month by blogging?

If your jaw just dropped and accidentally swallowed a moth, you are not alone, my friend. I knew that Dooce was popular and advertiser-pursued, but I did not know that she made more a month than I did in an entire year as a reporter.

And while I don't want to knock the ridiculousness of such a salary - mostly in the event I ever have one - it does seems crazy that she writes a few snippets every day and gets paid oodles more than someone who is required to attend a 5-hour long city council meeting and then write 15 column inches about a P-overlay zone.

But the more I think about it, the more I can understand why professional blogging is harder. I mean, writing about yourself is precarious - not too snobby, not too meek, not too much detail about that family member that everyone doesn't like, but she doesn't know it. Also, you have to get creative. I mean, the diaper explosion at Target story was funny the first time, but now I have to make it wittier - "the pooh was like spackle." And don't even get me started about the constant pressure to post, even when on vacation.

Since I'm not as funny as Dooce, and I religiously refrain from F-bombers, I probably will never garner the readership necessary to net $40,000 a month. But I'd be happy to settle for $10,000. Shoot, $1,000 would be close to $1,000 more than I'm currently making as a freelance writer, hand model and amateur mechanic.

So tell your friends. I promise things are going to get hotter, funnier and possibly chewier around here.

Now, where's my check?

Nooner

Just when you think you know the real Mrs. Dub*, I shake things up with a nooner. My blogging used to be so predictable that if I didn't post by 9 a.m. my mom would call me and make sure I was alive. Most of the time, thankfully, I was. But I've realized that I'm often a slave to my - also known as Miss Dub's - schedule. So I decided to get a little crazy and post on a whim.

Things I should be doing: Making dinner for a family moving in today, editing my SIL's tween novel, envisioning world peace, potty-training Miss Dub, figuring out why the government doesn't owe me more money, building a log cabin.

Things I'm doing instead: Contemplating why some people are under the false impression that I have a life, wondering what my favorite toe nail polish color is, ignoring my hunger, mentally eating coconut cream pie.

*By the way, had I known that Mrs. Dub was going to stick, I would have put a little more thought into my pseudonym. Maybe Yvette? Or Chilequiles? Or Joan? My friend's 3-year-old daughter informed me yesterday that she is pregnant with twins named "Favey" and "Twenty." But Favey is so common, you know. Any ideas?

Freaking out Friday

Well, my great plans to be Mrs. Perfect on Friday fell to the wayside as another medical crisis hit our family. I won't go into details, but please pray for PDaddy! He's not only a charismatic commenter, he's also the world's best dad. (No, this is not open for debate.)

So instead of baking complicated cookies and shopping for rare art, I spent most of Friday crying. Our recent experience with Baby Zee has made me very aware of the fragility of life. As a result, I have nightmares most nights that some member of my family has been kidnapped, killed or just plain disappeared. So it really freaks me out to have my dad face one of those possibilities. And while I'd like to say I was the positive one, I was totally leaning on others for support that day.

The good news is that the outlook for Mr. Ess is better than it could be. Also, confronting his mortality put Baby Zee's death in perspective. It sort of helped me sew the final stitches in that wound because I realized that life is going on around me, and I need to be fully engaged in it to avoid regrets. Of course, there will always be a scar - a constant reminder of Baby Zee and our love for her - but the wound isn't gaping open any more.

With both of these hard experiences, I've been sort of shocked to realize that the world is still going on despite our sadness. I kind of expected E! to stop stalking Britney for a day in honor of our hardships - but there she was in all her "is-it-a-bump?" glory.

But the positive side to that is that the world is still beautiful despite our sufferings. Having a baby die doesn't mean a blue sky stops being breathtaking, or that flowers stop growing. Even amidst all the horrible things in this world, like the recent glut of mass shootings and global strife, there are glorious things to be found.

So even though I'm still consumed with worry for my dad, I'm also optimistic. But I recognize that one day - a really, really distant day, I hope - I will have to say goodbye to him, just like I will to everyone I love. But I also know without a doubt that I'll say hello them again when it's my turn to bid this life adieu.

That brings me peace. And at a time like this, I need it.

Freaky Friday

I spent a ridiculous chunk of nap time yesterday rereading the archives of one of my "love-to-hate-you" bloggers. (I won't name names, but, no, it's not her.)

Rather than just mindlessly read about her purposeful existence, I began to mindlessly take notes, as well. This has to do with a book that I recently read - "Getting Things Done" by David Allen - that focuses on writing EVERYTHING down so that your mind can be free. Hence I now have a list with such random notes as "More fruits and veggies for Miss Dub!" and "Display everything in glass jars." Granted, I will probably continue to supply cookies to my precious offspring when she squeals, "Pweese!" And I will probably put off buying glass jars until I'm sufficiently content with my spring shoe collection - BUT the important thing is that I've clarified what I want to do so that I don't have to obsess over it all day.

But as I was writing all these things down, and feeling intense guilt that I haven't been scouring thrift stores for months to decorate for an upcoming church event, I thought about what it would be like to be another person; to live like the personas created by some of our favorite bloggers, who intentionally or not come across as the most engaging, spontaneous and creative folk in the universe.

So I'm going to try for 24 hours to be this dream person that I've been taking notes about for years. I'm going to push myself to live a little larger and more colorful rather than settling for pretty good. My meals will be prettier. My activities will be grander. And we'll see for once and all if it makes me any happier.

However, I can't do it tomorrow. I'm in charge of decorations for a church event and have just barely started to think about them.

But Friday will be my experiment.

Anyone want to join me?

Babies and boxes

This is Baby Zee's box. For now, it is her resting place until we can make it to Utah and bury her ashes with her Great-Great-Aunt Zee, who died as an infant, as well.

But more importantly, this box is full of the only mementos I have of Baby Zee's short life. Inside it I've placed blankets, hats and bracelets from the hospital. I've put ultrasound and post-delivery photos. I've included a birth announcement made by her Aunt Gee and a sweet poem written by her Aunt Bee.

Tonight, Mr. Dub and I are going to write letters to Baby Zee, and Miss Dub will scribble some sort of abstract tribute. Then, the box will be complete. And that's all we'll have to remember Baby Zee by for the next 50 years, unless I start wearing more sunscreen, in which case I might make it a little longer.

I never thought I'd be this sentimental. I didn't think I'd need formal reminders of our baby's existence. And I didn't think I'd be so adamant about including Baby Zee as an official member of our family - but I just can't count her out.

The other day I was at a new pediatrician and she asked me if I just had one child. I said, "Yes," at first, but found myself disturbed by my response and five minutes later blurted out, "I actually have two children." I quickly explained that I had one here and one up there (motioning heavenward) and felt much more peace. Of course, she was a doctor and wanted an in-depth retelling of my situation - I find I'm somewhat of a medical celebrity these days - and expressed sincere sympathy afterwards.

But I don't know what I'll say when the Target cashiers ask me a similar question. Will I be quick to include Baby Zee, or will I avoid any awkwardness by subtracting her short existence? It's tough to say. I don't think either one is wrong, but I do hope that if I include her no one will think that I'm crazy or sappy or "not over it."

Because the reality is that you never get over these sorts of things - you just get through them.

So for that reason I've given my baby girl a special box, just like her sister has a special bag filled with her newborn mementos.

They're both my girls, after all.

Cheaper than therapy

Grief is an interesting thing.

Whereas I felt very strong in the days after Baby Zee's birth, I find myself increasingly saddened by the situation as time goes on. Life has basically returned to normal, but at the same time I feel like a ghost of my former self. It seems like I'm slowly treading around a puddle of despair, careful not to fall in, but never steady enough to walk away.

As I've said, I'm at peace with Zee's short life, and don't question the eternal purpose of it all, but that doesn't stop me from wishing that things had gone differently. Most of all, I wish I could have had a few more weeks to carry her, a few more hours to hold her, a few more moments before I found out she wasn't going to survive.

But a few more of anything would never be enough, of course.

Why I'm sharing this all with you - many of whom are strangers - is a mystery to me since I seem to be incapable of sharing my true emotions with anyone face to face except Mr. Dub. Everyone else gets the positive version, the happy voice, the smiling face. And while my expressions are sincere, they aren't totally indicative of how I'm feeling. And, yet, I think people will expect me to be all better shortly because I've led them to believe I'm healed.

But writing only the uplifting stuff isn't going to help anyone who is experiencing anything similar.

So on Mondays - as long as I feel like it - I'm going to tell you like it is.

And this is what it's like to have your baby die.

Let's talk pads

Not me or my mother

I don't get out much these days due to the cold, my recovering abdomen and my general loser-ness. However, my mother and I did have a rousing discussion about the shoulder pad craze. All this time, I thought that shoulder pads were only donned with blazers and dresses, and that they were usually sewn in to the clothing.

Turns out - prepare yourself! - that women wore separate shoulder pads underneath everything, including basic T-shirts. And, as me mum confessed to doing herself, some people double padded. The insanity, I tell you!

And despite the sheer craziness of it all, my mom thinks that shoulder pads will be the next trend to reappear, albeit in a more modern form. (My mom has asked me to clarify here that it's not her wish, but her prediction.) But I just can't envision a return of women looking like NFL players.

So what do you think will be the next recycled fashion trend?

(Please don't say teased bangs ... seriously.)