I’m so happy that Spring is here! As much as I love boots, scarves, and wool coats, I’m glad to be done with them for a while. That’s why I whipped out my favorite cropped pants as soon as the weatherman promised a 65-degree day. (The above Polyvore collage is a good representation of my outfit.)

In my excitement, I failed to properly tuck in my shirt. It bunched in the back.

“Hey babe. Come here.”  Hubs said to me.

“Something wrong?” I walked over.

“You look lumpy. Turn around.”

This time, I didn’t wait. “We need to work on your adjectives.”

“What do you mean?” He asked as he fixes my shirt.

“Lumpy, frumpy, and puffy are not words you should use to describe your wife, under any circumstances.”

He laughed. “I thought you wanted me to be honest?”

“Honest, sure,” I said. “But there has be another way to say it. How about ‘your shirt isn’t tucked in right?'”

He laughed again.

I think he’s messing with me on purpose.

I was in love with this dress from the moment I saw it. It mixed my three favorite things: a black-and-white print, a flattering silhouette, and a sale price. I ordered it immediately.

But when I tried it on for the first time, something wasn’t right. I hung it in the closet and decided to try again later.

Later was the next morning. I put the dress on and thought it looked great. It just needed time to lose the wrinkles from packing and shipping. I topped it with a hot pink sweater. At this point, I normally would kiss Hubby goodbye and hit the road. For some reason, that day, I asked him what he thought.

“You should get a belt,”  he said. “Or it looks a little frumpy.”

FRUMPY?!?! That’s an all-or-nothing adjective. There is no such thing as “a little frumpy.” I checked the clock. There were less than 10 minutes left before Mini Me had to catch the bus. I scowled, grabbed a belt, and herded the kids out the door.

My outfit gained a different response at work. I told colleagues at the coffee station about my conversation with Hubby. They assured me the dress looked fine.

Hubby was cleaning the kitchen when I got home.

“Everyone at work said my dress looked nice,” I said.

“It does look nice,” he stopped washing dishes long enough to kiss me hello.

“You said it was frumpy this morning.”

“Well, yeah,” he said while squinting.  “It just needed the belt.”

My mind started to turn. How does a dress go from frumpy to fashionable with just a belt? More importantly, when did my husband become André Leon Tally? Something wasn’t right.

“Do you know what frumpy means?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said, way too quickly. He continued scrubbing dishes. “So, um, what is it?

“Matronly. Homely. Unattractive.”

“No,” he turned to look at me.

“Yes.” I nodded.

“Well, I just meant the skirt was puffy. The belt makes it not stand out so much.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. I spent a good portion of my day being miffed at Hubby for a mistake in vocabulary.

Have you ever felt like you and your partner were speaking two different languages?

I’ve created a monster.

Mini Me is an artist. She attacks every new project with a vigor I sometimes wish she’d use for cleaning her room. Her artistic endeavors can last for a few hours, or they can drag on for days. While she is in the midst of these spells, homework, chores and occasionally dinner, fall by the wayside.

Sound familiar? (See post on the fallout from my writing challenge.)

Her latest obsession is jewelry making. Sparkle and shine are close to my eight-year-old’s heart. So when I came with a bag full of colorful beads, I was prepared for her to be lost for a few days.

One weekend afternoon, we each made three bracelets. Then I left Mini Me to her own devices. Over the next week, she made 10 more. I doubt she’s done.

In addition to being prolific, my eight year old is also proud. She has no problem wearing her entire collection at once and explaining the placement of each and every bead. I’ve had to remind her on several school mornings that “less is more.” I said this, of course, as I piled on my own array of arm candy.

What I was not prepared for was the note I received from Mini Me’s teacher, Mrs. J.

“[The jewelry] is quite a distraction to her, her classmates, and me. She is constantly playing with the jewelry. Peers have told her it is a distraction. I have taken jewelry from her, but nothing seems to be working.”

I looked down at my arm after I read the note. I had on this:

And this:

I couldn’t help but laugh. That night, I had to put the chuckles aside and talk with Mini Me about the note.

“Why are you playing with your bracelets in class?” I pointed to the pile of rainbow and sparkle on the kitchen table.

“I’m not playing,” she said. “I’m arranging them.”

“Arranging them how? And why?”

“They’re so pretty, and you can wear them in different patterns.” She picked up a few and started to demonstrate her point.

I thought back to a conference call I took earlier that day. While a group disagreed about a deadline, I twirled blue beads around my wrist. Perhaps maintaing focus was something we could both improve.

I explained that while fashion and jewelry are fun, there is a time and and place for it. That place is not the middle of class or on a conference call.

Mini Me nodded, but I don’t think she was convinced. For now, though, we’ll reserve arm candy for the weekend.