Are those Mom Jeans or are you just terribly unhappy to see me.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. The drunk cooking, the thinly veiled passive aggressive comments from your mother-in-law about the state of your marriage, and all of the knock-down, drag-out street fights on the Food Network about whether to brine your turkey or just smear 15 pounds of butter on your ass and call it a day.

Tradition.

The other tradition in my home is to pull out my hidden pair of maternity jeggings, to match them with an oversized blouse and pretend not to be ashamed of myself while I have, “Ok, just one more teeny-tiny slice of pie.”

Thanksgiving pants. They’re a thing.

Thanksgiving pants made me think about mom jeans and thinking about mom jeans made me happy. Because I’m a kid of the 80s; don’t judge me.

And the only thing that could make me happier than thinking about mom jeans is asking my friends to actually put on their hidden mom jeans and send me pictures.

So, I partnered with my brilliant, comedienne friend Nicole Leigh Shaw to bring the sexy back to mom jeans.

We’re bringing mom jeans back
Them other pants, they don’t know how to act
We think it’s special, where’s your fanny pack?
Please put it on because your waistband’s whack

Sorry, JT.

Without further ado, here’s your slice of Thanksgiving happy with a side of implied camel toe.

Welcome to She Said/She Said, the Mom Jean Edition!

Acid Washed Magazine Spread Janel

She said: This reminds me of that scene in Blazing SaddleBags. Wait, that’s not a real movie, right? Well, after seeing this, it should be. HAWT. @BPMbadassmama

She said: The 80s called, they want their hair band mixed tape back. @NicoleLeighShaw

Every Inch Mom Magazine Spread Jess

She Said: Talk about a serious case of the dingleberries. @BPMbadassmama

She Said: You’ve got a little something . . . right . . . everywhere. @NicoleLeighShaw

Jorts Magazine Spread Rebecca

She Said: It’s a crocheted Christmas vest miracle. @BPMbadassmama

She Said: I had the same turtleneck! When I was 10! @NicoleLeighShaw

Elastic Magazine Spread Kim 2

She Said: The V in the front of these mom jeans is great because I know I always want people to have their eyes directed toward my vagina. @BPMbadassmama

She Said: There’s a fine line between sassy mother and unmedicated mother. @NicoleLeighShaw

Retro High Waist Magazine Spread Ellen

She Said: I think we should just skip to the punchline and call these the Levis 5-0-NationalGeographic. @BPMbadassmama

She Said: When you absolutely, positively, need to keep your saggy belly in check. @NicoleLeighShaw

Maternity Magazine Spread Robyn

She Said: Listen, people get all bent out of shape if you wear maternity pants when you’re not pregnant but, that’s only because they didn’t think of it first. #HatersGonnaHate @BPMbadassmama

She Said: Maybe she’s 4 months pregnant, maybe she had a baby four years ago, only her OB knows for sure. @NicoleLeighShaw

Tight White Magazine Spread Susan

She Said: This mom is on FIRE. No, I mean seriously…her crotch is on fire. @BPMbadassmama

She Said: Now this is how you toast a muffin top. @NicoleLeighShaw

Cut Offs Magazine Spread Bethany

She Said: Having my husband help me with this photo shoot is just another form of birth control. Thanks, Mom Jorts! @BPMbadassmama

She Said: Remember ladies: the best accessory for high-waisted cut-offs is a manic expression. @NicoleLeighShaw

Jeggings Magazine Spread Nicole

She Said: You could fit so many bad decisions in the extended crotch length of these pants. @BPMbadassmama

She Said: Jeggings are a mom’s way of saying, “At least they aren’t yoga pants.” @NicoleLeighShaw

Vest Belt Roll Magazine Spread Kerry

She Said: This brings back so many suppressed memories. What therapy couldn’t uncover, this tight-roll did. @BPMbadassmama

She Said: It’s not everyone who can pull of a sweater vest, puffed cap sleeves, a tight roll, and a belted mom jean. Wait, no, that’s not right. I remember now. It’s not ANYONE who can do that. @NicoleLeighShaw

Get MORE Thanksgiving on with Nicole Leigh Shaw here: http://www.nicoleleighshaw.com/2014/11/what-to-do-if-your-turkey-is-jacked-up.html





What I Want to Be When I Grow Up/(Beauty) School Drop-Out

As “Bad Parenting Moments”, I love to explore, exploit and enjoy the humor of parenthood. This is my “shit just got REAL” post for the month. I’ll return to the funny next week. I promise! xo – Debbie Downer

When I was a little girl, I went through the normal line-up of prospective careers: Rainbow Brite, Princess, Veterinarian, Doctor, Lawyer, President, Ballerina, Actress on, “Hey Dude!”. The usual. Then, I grew up. Well, I partially grew up. I did well in school. I was fortunate to be given a scholarship to college. Before college, I narrowed down my career choices: Lawyer and Rainbow Brite. Sadly, UGA did not offer advanced degrees in Rainbow Brite or the option to minor in riding horned unicorns over rainbows. Hey, no school is perfect. I settled for pre-law. My freshman year was a disaster. A total disaster. I was a mess. I was immature. I was afraid. I did not know who I was or what the hell I was doing. I was 18. I would like to say that somewhere deep down inside of me, where I knew I could be and do whatever I wanted, that I channeled my inner She-Ra and pulled through. Not the case. After a year of failing, I failed myself and quit. The broken pieces of my paper bag princess hopped a Greyhound bus from Georgia to Los Angeles, California (another blog for another time) and I never…ok, I rarely looked back. I started working and built an excellent career. I started at the bottom and worked my way up the “old fashioned” way. I met a boy, fell in love, had lots of babies, moved to a small town in New England and put my ideas of what I thought I wanted to be on the back burner of the extra stove you keep in the basement. What I wanted to be when I grew up was irrelevant. I was living the dream. Happy, healthy family. My greatest career? Mom, of course! Babies and joy and chaos. There was no time to examine the 18 year old I was or the Poet/Lawyer/Warrior Princess she wanted to be, but, who cared. I. Was. Living. The. Dream.

I have written about this before. The quiet need of a mother to find and/or retain who she is amidst the joy and chaos of parenthood. I write about it because I have no earthly idea how to manifest this idea in real life. A mother finds little outlet in the day to day, in the “thick” of parenting to nourish herself, EXCEPT, through the growth, happiness and nourishment of her children. That is spectacular and gratifying, but, is it enough? I don’t know.

Some would label me unhappy or ungrateful for even having this thought. Guess what, I am scared to have that thought. What kind of mother am I if I say, in print, that being a mother may not nourish every fiber of my being to satisfaction. What if, I dare to say that I may need my own childhood dreams of being my own super hero fulfilled outside of the confines of “mom”?  And, my biggest fear, what if I am not the best mother I can be because I do not know who I am outside of their mother. What if I fail them like I failed at 18. Because, like stepping into the world at 18, I am afraid and, on most days, I still do not know who I am or what the hell I am doing.

Here is the difference; my complete, heartbreaking love for my children will not allow me to quit. They make me want to truly examine the desires I have to become not just their mother, but, a woman they can be proud of. In quiet moments, I imagine my adult relationships with my children. In all of these imagined scenarios, they are always happy. We are always laughing. I do not know if they will be ballerinas, doctors, lawyers, veterinarians, paleontologists, Broadway actors, college grads or college drop-outs. Are they happy? Are they fulfilled? Do they know who they are? Do they know that it is never too late to figure out who you want to be in the world?

And, what’s next for me? Well, it is never to late to figure out who you want to be in the world. I don’t owe Rainbow Brite or college for that piece of truth. I owe my children for that life lesson.