I am a fraud.

A Facebook fraud.

If anyone were to look for me on Facebook, say a long lost friend or ex-boyfriend from college, they would find me, yes. But my profile picture is not truly representative of me. It’s me and my girls from two years ago. It’s me alright. But a slightly different, less is more, me. A 30 pound lighter me.

The girls are a little older now, and well, I think I look the same, well sort of. Enough for me to convince myself that it’s okay to keep this profile up for the world to see.

So my face is a little fuller (where the heck did these chipmunk cheeks come from?) And well, my clothes are not really fitting me the way they were two springs ago. But really, do you see how nice I look in this dress? I actually have a waist. A WAIST. So, if you were me, wouldn’t you keep this profile pic up? See the waist here?

 Facebook profile picture, Mother's Day 2013

Facebook profile picture, Mother’s Day 2013

I don’t think about my weight constantly (only every single day) because well I’m a mom, and have much more important things to think about…

Like, what the heck am I going to make for dinner (and why do they need to eat daily?); when am I going to find time to fold the clean clothes that are just sitting in the laundry basket staring at me; how is it that I can never seem to go to the bathroom without somebody barging in; where is the cup/dish/platter when I’m looking for it; and a million other things.

Another reason I don’t think my weight gain is a big deal until I try on my clothes and they don’t fit me is because my children LOVE ME THE WAY I AM.  My dear wonderful husband thinks I’m nuts and tells me all the time, he loves my CURVES (gotta love a man like that) and who cares if I gained a little weight? He  LOVES THAT I EAT. He really is a nice guy and deep down he gets that what truly matters is inside a person.

My girls have grown up hearing this every single day of their life. It’s become my daily mantra… it’s what is on the inside that counts, so they believe it too. And I do as well… except when it comes to, well… me.

I know I’m not alone. Why are women so hard on ourselves?

I love my life, feel blessed to have a wonderful husband, two happy and healthy children, my family nearby, friends I love dearly, and a career I love.

Why would 30 pounds make any difference in my life?

How vain? How ridiculous? If you don’t like how you look or like how you feel, then change it! Right? Hey, don’t yell at me, I say the same thing to my crazy self. And for the most part I am trying to lose it, I work out daily, almost daily and eat healthy all most some of the time. I love life. I love eating. I love socializing. But I also love feeling good about myself both inside AND OUT.

But you know what? I want to lose weight, because I want to feel better yes, but what the heck, I want to wear jeans again! The jeans in my closet are sitting there laughing at me. Ha, ha. They mock me. You haven’t worn us in two years, and the rate you are going you may never wear us again.  To be honest I sort of made a pact with myself not to wear denim of any kind, because I do not feel good in them or look good in them. End of story.

So… I did something I thought I would never do. I bought jeans this weekend. And not just any jeans… BOYFRIEND JEANS.  You know the kind… they are supposed to look like you borrowed them from your boyfriend. Relaxed fit, worn in and cuffed at the bottom. The kind hip, cute, young girls wear.

It was Sunday afternoon and we were driving home from a morning spent blueberry picking with my sisters and her kids. My plan was to have everyone home by 2:00pm, so we could shower and get dressed to leave in time for the Ariana Grande concert. BIG NIGHT. EXCITED GIRLS.

As we get closer to home, I decide hey, wouldn’t it be nice to get a fun new top for the concert? After all, the girls have fun new concert shirts and I DO have a top in the car I need to return to Chico’s… so it would be super easy to run into the store and return it and get a new top.

Let me back up and tell you about why I am returning a top at Chico’s. Yes, you heard me correctly CHICO’S. The store which my mom shops in has become a store I now shop in. The store which caters to the older generation. At 25 I was all about the Limited Express and 5-7-9;  the 30s were the Gap, Banana Republic and Old Navy. The 40’s now find me in Ann Taylor, White House Black Market, J Crew, Marshalls… really any store which I can find something which fits and is flattering. Which now includes Chico’s (thanks to my mother who is obsessed with this store and has literally purchased a silk tank in every single color imaginable for me and my sisters.) They have become a staple in my closet and are perfect for work. Layer it with a thin matching cardigan, and there you are.

So back to my Chico’s stop.

Did I mention my husband and girls are in the car with me? Did I mention we spent the day blueberry picking with my sister and her three kids? Did I mention it was hot, hot, hot out? Did I think hmmmm… maybe stopping at a store on our way home is not the best idea?

No I did not.

If this were a horror movie, you would be yelling, don’t stop! Go back you crazy person! Go home! Don’t leave your poor husband and hot and tired girls in the car to go into a store.  BUT because I am a crazy an efficient person who always tries to squeeze in too much, I decide it’s a very good idea. And besides we have two hours to shower and dress for the concert before we have to leave. Plenty of time.

I run into Chico’s and spot a cute top. Yes, it is Chico’s, but this top does not look like it’s for an older person. It has SPARKLES on it. I realize as I’m in the dressing room trying it on that I need to see how I look in the bigger mirror – so out into the dressing room lobby I go. There are two men waiting for their wives. One has a cane, and the other one is sitting on a chair. They are both in their 90s I think. I do not let this bother me, as I stop to admire this cute top in the full length mirror. Then out of the corner of my eye I spy a sign: Boyfriend Jeans.

I turn around and see the cutest, softest, broken in jeans hanging there. They even have a cuff on the hems! And because it’s Chico’s, the sizes are 0-2, so you know I’m going to try on a pair I mean really, when was the last time I tried on a size 1.5? This alone will be the reason I will want to purchase them!

I quickly try them on, take a peek in the lobby mirror expecting disappointment and an ogre to be staring back, but I am shocked. I actually LIKE HOW I LOOK in them. I feel fabulous! Old men give me a nod, and I can tell they also like how I look in them. (Either that or they are nodding off to sleep, but I’m going with the first option.)

It’s totally doable, I realize. I CAN wear jeans. IN PUBLIC.  Then I see the price tag: $89.00? Which is absolutely ridiculous for Chico’s jeans. I mean they are not 7 For Mankind or DKNY… but who cares says my new carefree, Boyfriend-Jeans-loving self. I will take two! One in denim and one in black. (Did I mention they are 25% off?) Even better. I feel beautiful in them and hip! Like a rock star hip mom! Look at me in my boyfriend jeans!

Reality sets in and I remember I have a tired and probably deranged crew back in the car. I run to the cashier and as I’m standing in line I look down. I see that not only is my top on backwards, it’s inside out. (Maybe this is why my new friends were smiling at me?)

By the time I run to the car 41 minutes have gone by.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE? Yells dear hubby. (Honestly, what did he think I was doing? Hosting a BBQ!? Organizing a séance?!?)

It’s only been a half hour, I respond calmly.

YEAH MOM, WE ARE TIRED AND WANT TO GO HOME! COME ON! Whines cranky girl #1 from the back seat.

DID YOU BUY ME ANYTHING? Asks girl #2, who is fully reclined in the front passenger seat like she is a guest on the Queen Mary.

Forty-one minutes. You would have thought I was gone for two days.

I push my passenger seat up… Guess what I bought? I ask these happy faces.

JEANS I yell to these people who are not at all excited. Not one bit. They are not rejoicing or even acting interested in this monumental occasion.

Two hours later and we are showered, dressed and heading out the door. The girls are dressed in their new Ariana t-shirts, and I am sporting my boyfriend jeans. We are on our way!

Concert is amazing. Girls are having the time of their life, and I am having fun with them, being a rock star hip mom. Ariana truly puts on a fantastic concert. Fun singing, amazing dancing, beautiful stage sets, fireworks, costume changes you name it, Ariana has it. She also has on little skimpy outfits and stiletto heels. She changes her shoes four times I think, taller heels each costume change, and after two hours she is STILL dancing, hopping, jumping, singing non-stop. IN HER STILETTO HEELS. AND CUTE LITTLE OUTFITS. I am not hip, I think. (Well, she is 22 after all, and hasn’t gone through childbirth, let alone probably in a Chico’s dressing room.) Okay I feel better.

Concert is over and I cannot wait to get in the car. I am pooped. Exhausted, and cannot WAIT to take off my 2” wedges and put my PJ’s on.

The next morning I am still feeling very hip and confident, and decide I am going to change my fraudulent Facebook profile picture to a newer one. One of me in my new BOYFRIEND JEANS. Who cares if I am 30 pounds heavier? It’s still me.

Boy does that Ariana have energy and the heels, I mention to my husband as I make the bed. (Don’t hip moms make beds?) OMG How did her feet not hurt? I ask him.

My dear-going-to-regret-this-later hubby reminds me that she is half my age. HALF.

So, I say trying to pretend that I am not at all bothered by this remark as I throw a pillow at him… I am still hip. Did you see my BOYFRIEND JEANS?!

Yes, he says, but you got them at Chico’s.

WHAT DOES THAT HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH IT?  I say half laughing, half serious.

Julia Marino shops at Chico’s he says matter of factly. (This is my mother-in-law’s best friend. She is 83).

Well, okay then. Julia is hip too I think. Maybe she wears Boyfriend Jeans.

Me (in fabulous new Boyfriend Jeans) and girls at Ariane Grande concert

Me (in fabulous new Boyfriend Jeans) and girls at Ariane Grande concert