The Ball: notes from Cinderella herownself

This weekend was the Imua Ball.

I know I have talked about it kind of exhaustively, but there are 2 reasons for that:

1. Imua does good work and this is a cause worth supporting if you have any interest in supporting Early Childhood Development initiatives.

2. I went for it, man. I really went all the way. You say "ball", I say "gown".

"BALL" "GOWN" BALL" "GOWN"

Now that I have typed it and said it out loud a few times, I have an announcement:
Gown is a funny word.

So before I get to the pictures, I just want to once again say a few words about Imua. They provide services for the children of Maui County that are somehow, in some way, struggling to keep up. They are missing milestones - for a myriad of reasons, whether it is autism, a birth defect, maternal drug and alcohol use, or for some unexplained reason that needs to be addressed regardless of diagnosis.

Imua (eeMOOah) in Hawaiian means first; front; ahead; forward; number one. This organization is about putting children's needs before our own, investing in the success of our future by helping children succeed from the beginning. They offer many different types of therapy, and their staff come to the family's home to work with the kids one on one. And that is why I insist that each of our foster children are assessed by Imua - I want to know that, even after they leave our family, they will continue to receive support and care, and that adults I know and trust will be checking on them regularly in their new home. It gives me no small amount of peace, honestly. It can be months between social worker visits, but Imua arrives like clockwork on a monthly, weekly, sometimes DAILY schedule.

They are my guardian angels, in real life.


And now for the photos.
Oh, the photos.

First I want to clarify something: I decided long in advance that if we were going to the ball, we were going to spend the night at the hotel - the drive is long, and sometimes dangerous, and there is only one road that leads to that part of the island - a road that can be closed for hours due to a car accident or fire - both of which happen on a semi-regular basis, unfortunately. The last thing I wanted to do was worry about being stranded overnight far from home. And then, of course, there was the fact that it was a hotel. With a pool and a hot tub and room services and a breakfast buffet. So, yeah. We spent the night.

And early check in - HOLLAH.

The staff at the hotel just couldn't have been nicer - not only did they find a room ready for us when we arrived at noon instead of 3 or 4pm, they sent up a roll-away and a huge dessert platter that was inhaled by the kids during the evening. I was nervous about splurging on a hotel room right now, but in the end it was totally worth it. It all worked out very well. Very well indeed.

The hallway outside the event, during set-up.

I would have offered to help but PALM TREES

Early check-in meant a few hours by the pool 

before I drove back to town for hair and makeup. 

I would like to thank the Hyatt for coordinating 

their towels to my bathing suit. Very accommodating.

The hair was less accommodating. 

A bit of a project, actually.

But in the end, it really came together.

A feat of engineering, in my opinion.

When I attempted to return to the hotel to get ready, 

there was an enormous traffic jam due to 

numerous formal events that evening.

I was not the only one on the highway with an updo 

who was applying makeup in my rearview mirror en route. 

I had a moment to do some touchups 

before I headed downstairs, but some stuff just didn't happen.

Ironing my dress, for example, was not in the cards.

Due to the traffic, the event started a bit slowly.

People were sharing panicked texts from attendees

who were seriously delayed and not pleased about it.

I was relieved, actually.

The quiet beginning gave me a chance to rock Ella to sleep.

Sam took her up to the room with the other kids, 

and then he came back down to join me for dinner 

while she slept. Perfect timing. 

As people took their seats, there were dancers 

scattered around the ballroom.

There were some announcements, words of thanks, 

and a live auction. 

Dinner was a glorious affair.

Seriously.

Delicious and beautiful and lots of it.

Sephora had makeup artists in the lobby 

to touch up everyone's makeup after dinner.

And then there was a fashion show.

Student and professional designs were modeled.

And then the after party began in the next room.

I got a text that Ella was awake and needed me.

So I jumped in the elevator and headed upstairs.

Real life was calling. 

But it was such a lovely dream to wake up from.

If you are interested in learning more or making a donation to 

Imua Family Services, you can click HERE

The Night Before the Ball

I got my eyebrows waxed today. Ouch. They are a pretty angry red right now, I hope that fades soon because otherwise everyone will know that A. I have a unibrow and B. I rocked that thing until the last minute.

But really, the night before isn't the last minute.

The last minute would be standing in the bathroom outside the event, which is where I intend to put on the ridiculous strapless bra-corset thing I am going to have to wear.
Ouch, indeed.

Maintenance is a bitch, and I am not a regular at the groomers.

But I think I am pretty ready already.
I have a dress.
I have shoes.
I have a fancy bag.
I have the aforementioned ridiculous undergarment/contraption.
I have a hair appointment for the big do.
And I have Xanax.

Yes, I have things well in hand, or at least, I thought I did. And then someone asked me if Sam was going to wear a tux. I tried to play it off all casual but inside my brain was screaming:
"OH MY GOD YOU FORGOT ABOUT SAM."

So. Um. Yes. Hm. Sam is wearing a white shirt! With black pants! AND A TIE. Because in Hawaii, wearing a tie is really serious business. It's just not done. Ever. Even the lawyers wear Aloha shirts and Birkenstocks to court. Or maybe that was just my lawyer. I don't know. MY POINT IS ties are really not worn here for any reason except prom. I literally cannot think of another time when men wear ties. Okay, occasionally there is possibly a formal church wedding - but I have never been to one of those.

I honestly can't think of a single time that I have seen a man walking around in a tie, unless he was knocking on my door to share the good news about our Lord. And when HE showed up I hid behind the sofa.

But not tomorrow. Tomorrow night there will be gowns, and ties, and maybe even TIARAS. (Oh, I really hope there are tiaras.) And I will not be hiding behind the sofa. I will be right there. In the middle of this big, fabulous party. And then there is some sort of late night extravaganza. I will be up way, way past my bedtime. Craziness.

So, here are a few links in case you want to follow the madness. You know what they say: pictures or it didn't happen. So, pictures.

I'm on Twitter and Instagram: @daffodilblog
Imua Family Services has a facebook page for the event.

And you can follow the hashtags #imuaball and #fantasiaafterdark

Or you can just buy tickets, and be there yourself. Because I think that would be best. Don't you?

Trying to find a gown at 40, during prom season

Can we all just take a deep cleansing breath? One that doesn't stink like a perfume counter?

I love living on an island. I have adapted to having limited options for last minute purchases, and I have learned that even "overnight shipping" takes a week. I know what things I can order online, and which things I need to see in person to decide on.

I have also had several disastrous lessons in online clothes shopping. So I just don't do it.

This decision has saved us a lot of time and money, and it really hasn't been a problem...... until now.

I need a dress.
By Saturday.

This is the vision I had......

I did some pinning on Pinterest, but was too nervous to buy without trying on first..... so last week I went to the mall, and found a corner of the department store that had a few sparse racks holding cheap, fugly dresses that alternated between Matron and Hooker. There was nothing in-between. The selection was totally picked over, sizes were limited, and there were as many sequins on the floor as there were on the clothes. And the ball I'm going to is "The Black and White Ball": there were exactly 2 black dresses - neither of which was my size - and no white dresses at all.

The bridal store in the mall had gone out of business, and Forever 21 had nothing. I stood outside of Sears for a few minutes trying to work up the courage to go and look to see if they had any prom gowns left, but I just.... I couldn't. I couldn't do it.

So I got in the car, bound and determined to find something to wear. I went over to one of the fancy outdoor shopping centers and found some gorgeous gowns at BCBG but I just couldn't pull the trigger and buy one. And because I am too old and classy (shut up) to tuck the tags in, wear the dress and then return it the day after the event (never mind that the employees are friends and readers - Hi guys!) I had to put them back on the rack...... but not before Joyce snapped a few photos:

I really, really liked this black one. 

I totally thought about things I could sell to pay for it.

This is INCREDIBLY comfortable and surprisingly flattering.

Definitely a dress that looks so much better ON 

then it does hanging on a hanger.

This dress was about 3 sizes too small, but I loved it.

Great Gatsby, yes?

We went to 3 or 4 other stores that night, but nothing grabbed me. I left empty-handed.
C'est la vie.

I'm not giving up yet - I still have a few tricks up my sleeve......but I also have my original plan:

Catching cute mice and putting them to work.

I had gray hair. Then I dyed it and people take that sort of thing very personally.

YOU GUYS.

As I have mentioned, I am beginning, the long, slow and sometimes painful process of getting my act together so that I am fit to be seen in public, in advance of the Fantasia Ball I am attending next weekend.

At first, I thought I might just shave my armpits and call it a day. But then, you know, I started thinking about all of the maintenance I do not participate in on a regular basis. Like buying makeup, or coloring my hair, or wearing a fancy dress. Even my elevens have gotten the best of me, I'm sorry to say.

The first order of business was the hair. I have been gray - really and truly, salt and pepper gray all over - for about 5 years. I dyed my hair red a few years ago for St. Patrick's Day, which was hilarious, but then I promptly had it cut about 1/2 an inch long all over my head.

Which in turn led me to dying it back to it's dark brown and letting the gray come in. It was a losing battle, trying to cover the gray. My hair grows fast and thick, and I had an almost constant strip of gray at my root line - which is SUUUUPER attractive and youthful.

I wasn't fooling anyone, is what I am trying to say. Also, denial.

"You can't be too much older than I am," said a woman who was definitely older than me, during a casual conversation one day a few months ago. She looked good, don't get me wrong. I just happened to know she was older than I was. Outwardly, I thought we looked around the same age. The only difference was, she was blonde. And I was not.

"Huh." I thought. "Why would she think I was older than I am?"

So for the last few years I have been gray, and fine with it. Really and truly fine. I got a few blonde highlights every once in a while to keep 'em guessing, but mostly I just let it be. Until I got a wild hair and decided that I wanted to go full-tilt Audrey Hepburn breakfasting at Tiffany's on this ball thing, started searching for a long e-cigarette online, and sent a text to my hairstylist Adiel:
"Let's go dark."



I could almost hear the squeal coming from 15 miles away. "Yes." she said (the "finally" was left unsaid, but certainly implied.) When I arrived at the salon, everyone in the place knew I was there to dye my hair. The receptionist, the other stylists, even the chick in the first chair knew what was about to go down. I have spent a lot of years having hairstylists ask if they could color my gray hair, so I thought it was just unique to the profession, to have such strong opinions about going gray. Boy, was I wrong.


So I sat back, and let them have at it. I did not give any instructions, I did not look at swatches or discuss warm vs. ash tones, or anything. I just sat down and said "Okay, go."

It took a while. Joyce showed up to document the big reveal, but I wasn't ready yet.

So we had a drink.

Just one, mind you. Heavy on the OJ.

Ella took a little nap while we waited.

Then I needed a haircut.

An hour later, my chair was rotated back towards the mirror. "What the hell have I done?" was the first thing I said. My stylist was more concerned about my bangs than the color.

And then, naturally, I posted a photo on Facebook. The reaction, it was swift.
The first thing I noticed is that everyone thinks I look better - and younger - without gray hair. Apparently, while I was walking around feeling empowered, I was also walking around looking 20 years older than necessary.

Huh.

And then, some of my friends and family who have gone gray started to get a little protective. Okay, defensive. Tomato tomahto.
My mom got involved.
People realized my mom was reading, and toned down their responses.
"I like your hair either way." a few said diplomatically.
But the vast majority were markedly relieved that I had finally ditched the gray. And that's okay. I'm glad it looks good, because I really do want to look nice for the event, and I definitely don't want to look 20 years older. So yay for hair color.

But it's only temporary.

Daffodil goes to a ball: If I wear a long gown, do I have to shave my legs

I got invited to a ball in a few weeks time.

I have never been to a ball before, but I have watched Cinderella a million times, so I am going to the pet store for some nice mice and birds who could help a girl out. It seems like the easiest way to deal with what is otherwise a kind of overwhelming process.

Here are some reasons why I might need some help:

-I shaved the back of my head a few months ago. This grow-out period is a bitch.
-95% of my makeup is on the floor of my linen closet, and came free with purchase of a moisturizer.
-I have one "formal" dress - which is more than most people, I know, but leaves a lot to be desired in terms of choosing a dress. I own a dress. I am wearing it.
-I am wearing the aforementioned dress with a pair of sandals I just found in a bag under my bed. This post is really helping to keep me on track.
-I have a 6 week old. If you have kids that you have raised since birth, you may understand what I am saying when I tell you I am barely coherent some days, rarely showered, and usually in sweatpants. I haven't brushed my hair since February.

I could go on, but you get the picture. I am the last person on the planet that should be going to a ball, and it will take every ounce of strength I have to stay awake past 9pm. Since the after party starts at 10, I will begin drinking caffeine-laden beverages at noon.

There is a really good reason for all of this:
The ball benefits Imua Family Services.

Imua has been a part of our lives for years - they have worked with several of our foster children and the results of their comprehensive approach to therapy - mostly through play and exploration - is a wonder to behold. Dude, in particular, benefitted from their services and for that I am forever grateful. When we brought Dude home from the hospital he had a lot of odds stacked against him, from low birth weight to drug exposure in utero. He made incredible progress working with Imua, and Imua worked long and hard on his behalf, partnering with his mother and father to be sure he was making the progress he needed to make before entering preschool.

this is Dude in an infant carseat, which was clearly too big for a Dude-sized infant

But Imua provides more than just services for our foster children - they provide peace of mind. So many people ask me how I can bear to give these foster children back, and the honest truth is that it would be impossible if I didn't know that the team - the doctors and nurses and therapists and social workers and lawyers that I have gotten to know and trust over the years from case to case - would be following the baby for months or even years to come. Because I know that they will be getting to know the family, and supporting them through the child's early years, sometimes even doing the visits in the family home, I am able to have some peace of mind when I hand these babies over for the last time and say goodbye.

They do good work at Imua Family Services, and I was proud to be asked to support their fundraiser this year. But then I realized it would mean actually pulling myself together for a fancy evening event.

This will be interesting.

To hold myself accountable, and also to make sure I get some feedback, I will be undergoing my makeover in public. Right here. Hair will be dyed, skin will be waxed, wrinkles will be blasted, dresses will be tried on to see if I can find one I like better then the one I have, and then of course, the grand finale:

The updo.

I might even wear a corsage.

Good lord, it's like 1993 Senior Prom all over again. But this time I won't be driving a turquoise Cadillac with a white leather interior (sadly, because that car was amazing) and I'm pretty sure I won't have a perm, either.

I'm not ruling it out, though. The thrill of the reveal, coming soon!