How Ally Got Her Groove Back (A Review of Style on the Fly with Kat McNeal)

I think I may have posted here recently that I don't have any New Year's Resolutions except to stop saying whatever within ear shot of my toddler.

That's a total lie.

I have tons.

I would like to:
drink more water than wine
stop having a cup of sugar with a little bit of coffee splashed on top
truly get 10,000 steps on my FitBit instead of just walking circles around the dining room table
floss (more than just the week before my dentist appointment...which, I'm pretty sure, is fooling no one)
stop sneak-eating chocolate in our walk-in pantry
spend less time in the Target $1 aisle
spend more time outside
remember that, before Blue, I had style and it had very little to do with black yoga pants, hoodie sweatshirts and baseball caps

It's a lengthy list that I'm not rushing into because there's still 349 days left in the year. And if I master them all in the first month, what will I do for the next 11? However, I've gotten a lot of help with that last one recently and it's rocking my world in some big ways.

My sister once lamented to me that giving birth to 2 kids had ruined her sense of style. I found this completely unbelievable because she had always been one of the most fashionable women I knew. She stayed on top of the trends and knew how to apply them to her own wardrobe. Her make-up was flawless, her accessories perfectly chosen and her overall appearance was completely polished. Even when she was simply junking on a Saturday morning, she still looked as though she had just stepped off the cover of Glamour.

But having kids changes us all. I used to tease her mercilessly about the "Quaker" denim skirts (in her defense, she is a high school teacher but I think she may have worn them out a time or two, as well), the "Mom" jeans, the yoga pants and all the cardigans. Although she held on to several pairs of strappy stilettos and some slinky tops, her closet was mostly geared toward work and relaxation. But that's what you do when you have kids. You work and then you relax, preferably in something without buttons or zippers. (For the record, my sister never lost her sense of style. She can make a track suit from 1984 look glamorous.)

I had been noticing the same trend in my own closet about 6 months ago. As some of the baby weight finally started to come off and I began to feel more comfortable in pants and skirts again, I realized that my jeans to yoga pants ratio was completely off. Especially considering how much yoga I was doing (read: none). But I was OK with petering around the house in Target stretchy pants or leggings and a sweatshirt. The real panic began when I was going out...for dinner with Neal or to a movie with girlfriends or packing for vacation. One cannot live in yoga pants alone. And I am a jewelry designer. Shouldn't I wear something other than my wedding rings and a pair of CZ earrings from Claire's? I had lost all of the joy I once felt from piecing together my look for the day. It suddenly seemed like a waste of time to put on make-up when I was only going to leave the house to run to the commissary. And would anyone really notice if my boots matched my hoodie? I had one purse which was being used well past its natural life.

Before kid...

After kid. I can't believe I haven't deleted this yet. 

More weight came off and while I was still a far reach from my pre-pregnancy size, I could no longer get away with cinching post-pregnancy pants and referring to my billowing sweaters as ponchos. The Empress needed new clothes. But where to begin? Goodwill, of course. It was the cheapest way to completely re-stock...but not necessarily the most effective, as I soon discovered. Although everything fit, it didn't all fit well . My body was, irreversibly it seemed, changed by pregnancy. Even after losing 20 pounds, everything remained a little fuller. My hips were somewhat wider and I had developed some muscle from hauling around a child for 3 years. My waist had become less defined and my butt had flattened. My body had transitioned from hour-glass to apple-shaped and I had no idea how to dress it. The colors I chose were flattering if I stuck to blues and pinks but sometimes I bought a shirt because the cut favored this new body. And I ended up with a lot of black. Thinking I had nailed this style thing once again, I would pull from my new wardrobe, look in the mirror and think At best, I look tired. At worst, I look sick.  I had a closet full of nothing to wear. I threw my hands in the air and waved the black yoga pants flag of mercy.

One warm, breezy Sunday afternoon this past September, my neighbor came bouncing up the walk with a folder and a smile. She had just been to a style consultation with our neighbor down the street, Kat, owner of Style on the Fly. I perused the contents of her folder and the color swatches Kat had given her. That's nice, I thought. But it's not for me. I know how to dress myself, I'm just too lazy to do it. Over the next several weeks, I saw my neighbor put into action the color and style tips Kat had given her. Her face seemed brighter and she seemed more put together, less thrown together. (To be fair, I had always been a little jealous of my neighbor's wardrobe and her waist to butt ratio, however she now played to these assets and I was shiny green with envy.) Clearly I needed an appointment with Kat.

Style on the Fly is the business Kat created based on her training with Christian beauty speaker and founder of Fashion Meets Faith, Shari Braendel and her book Help me Jesus! I Have Nothing to Wear. Ms. Braendel's mission is to help women embrace their God-given beauty. And yes, we all have God-given beauty. The way God created us is absolutely perfect, even though we dabble in hair color and try out colored contact lenses. The consultation is based almost exclusively on eye, skin and hair color so it's best to be as close to natural as possible. I've only had one set of highlights since I shaved my head 2 years ago so my color is mostly me, gray and all. And although my summer tan had begun to fade to my winter white, Kat promised that wouldn't affect my colors at all.

Teaching the importance of color.

The first step was to determine my 36-color palette. To do this, Kat placed me in a chair in front of a window so I was bathed in natural light. She then wrapped several different colors of pashminas around my shoulders until she found the one that made me look the most radiant. You are a light she told me and handed me a packet with 6 layers of swatches (6 colors per swatch with everything from the best shades of blues, reds and purples for me to the size of pattern that best suits me to the color of jewelry that is most complimentary to my skin tone) and 2 cards, one explaining how the swatches should be used and one offering even more style tips for my palette (steer clear of autumn colors, think of watermelon red if you must wear red, if you insist on wearing black keep it away from your face). And at the bottom, most importantly: Remember that you are beautiful...exactly as you are! Your light coloring is a gift from God and you light up a room when you walk into it. 

Oh my goodness how I needed to hear that. Right then and right there. And probably for every day since my belly (and everything else) grew round and ready. I hadn't felt beautiful in 4 years. Pictures from 2012-2015 reflect my increasing apprehension to be digitally immortalized. Thousands of pictures of Blue and Neal, but only random selfies of me and only from the collarbone up. For me, not feeling beautiful affected every other aspect of my life. My confidence plummeted and my insecurity often crept up in the wickedest ways. I called everything into question, from the fidelity of our marriage to the strength of my mother's intuition. All because I felt like a mascaraed potato sack. I did not feel beautiful.

For the next 90 minutes we discussed where hemlines should fall to best flatter my body type and how to accessorize an outfit. Before Blue, I adhered to my Granny's flawless fashion principle: Put on all of the jewelry you want to wear that day and then take one piece off. After Blue, I adhered to the Exhausted Mommy's Guide to Getting Yourself Dressed Enough to Be Seen in Public: You should probably wear a watch so you know what time to feed and nap your baby and your wedding bands because your husband spent a lot of money on them and then maybe a long necklace to show people you still remember what style is. But definitely no dangly earrings of any kind. Ever. Yes, I was still designing amazing pieces for clients and my own wardrobe still boasted quite a few show-stoppers, but they rarely saw the light of day. And who has time for all of that anyway? It will just be more stuff to take off when it's time to nap or bathe or wash dishes. And the only one who will see it is still pooping his pants. Too much work, not enough return.

One of the best pieces of advice from my style session with Kat is a handy guide to accessorizing outfits. It assigns each item a point value and gives you an idea of where your totals should be and how to get them higher (with the idea that a higher number = a more polished look). I use it everyday, even if I only plan to run out and get the mail. I try to get 8-10 points on days where we are at home and 14-16 if we are going out. It seems like such an inconsequential piece but makes a huge difference in how put together I feel when I walk out the door.

Discussing hemlines.

We finished up with some make-up tips (which paid off the first time my BFF said, after seeing a selfie on Facebook, I don't know what you're doing with your make-up these days but you look fabulous!) and any questions that came up during the session. It's a lot of information to take in but all immediately applicable with instant results. I rushed home and cleaned out my closet that afternoon.

New body, new attitude. Not so scared to be in pictures anymore! Also, apparently I can wear gray but not black. Who knew??

Kat just launched her new website, which includes a list of her services (from color analysis all the way to personal shopping), an About Me section and the Style on the Fly blog. If you're local to Leavenworth, she hosts periodic group style classes with the next one occurring Sunday, January 24 from 3:00-4:30. You can email or call Kat to book. If you are reading all of this and thinking I need that in my life! But I live a bajillion miles away, she can complete a color analysis using photos taken in natural light. You can contact her here to get started. Kat is also available for speaking events and has often presented at Mothers of Preschoolers (MOPs) groups and mother-daughter teas (this is particularly effective for encouraging the daughter to dress more appropriately and showing the mother how to help). Her Facebook page is up and running and while she's getting her Pinterest boards in order, you can check out Ms. Braendel's Pinterest page, with many style tips and helpful hints, here. 

As I wrap up this review, you may be saying to yourself, That's funny...this all sounds vaguely familiar. Like didn't we do this in the late 80's and it was called something else? And yes, you are most likely thinking of Color Me Beautiful. Our mothers spent an afternoon at someone's house and came back flushed with knowledge and declarations that they are a spring! Or a winter! And then a flurry of shopping. Color Me Beautiful still exists, although they are no longer training new representatives. The problem with that program is that within the 4 seasons, there are 4 more sub-categories which makes your palette very specific. A slight tan or a set of highlights would throw your whole wardrobe off. Many women ended up with overflowing closets just to accommodate the slight changes in skin and hair color that occur over the course of a year. And ain't nobody got room (or money) for that. The idea behind Fashion Meets Faith is that less is more and you can go up or down a few shades in skin and/or hair color and your palette still works. Also, your closet becomes more like a capsule wardrobe because everything coordinates, making getting dressed in the morning infinitely easier. I like easy. Because toddlers are not easy. 

I may not be drinking more water than wine (see above statement: toddlers are not easy) and I may still be eating some chocolate in the closet, but I also feel radiant, confident and beautiful, both in and out of the house!

A Sister's New Year's Wish

I meant to write this on Friday, the first day of 2016. But instead, I was grazing on Chex mix and chasing away champagne headaches with a little hair of the dog. I blame my neighbors - one brought the gallon baggie of munchies and the other entertained a total of 15 kids while we washed queso down with wine and critiqued Alabama's defense between runs upstairs to check on the kids. At least I stuck to the clear liquids or it could have all been much worse for me on the first day of the new year. But even through my fog of detox, I could see how lucky we were to land where we did in 2015. We had asked for Newport, Rhode Island, the Navy's approach to this school. We had prayed for Newport, Rhode Island. I found no less than 15 Chip-and-Joanna-approved houses on Trulia...in Newport, Rhode Island. Then one day Neal came home and said "It's Kansas for us." My heart sank. House hunting turned up nothing interesting. I watched The Wizard of Oz after Blue went to bed and leaked self-pity all over my chocolate Cheerios.

I didn't want to live in Kansas. Not for 12 months. Not even for 12 minutes.

Obviously, I was wrong about Kansas. And Missouri, as well, for that matter, since we live less than a mile from the state line. And so I have come to trust the process. Whether it's God's plan for us or the Army's, we are not completely out of control, but we are not wholly in it, either. We must make our wishes known and then accept and bloom in the coming year. And so this note, my 400th post on this blog, is addressed to my fellow Milspouses across the world on the third day of the new year...because my fellow Milspouses made the last night of the last year so knee-walking fabulous that it took 2 days to recover.

Dear MilSisters,
Let me be the first or the twentieth or the eighty-fifth to say Happy New Year! I don't know how 2015 fared for all of you but I hope it was mostly agreeable even if it was rarely boring. Most of all, I hope you awoke on January 1 of 2016 with a song in your heart and a sense of boundless energy for what will be asked of you in the coming year. And if that didn't happen, I hope that at least the neighbor children showed up at your door after you showered and put on a bra to deliver your son's favorite fleece jacket left behind from the night before. I think that's the most any of us can hope for...that the doorbell rings after you've put on a bra.

I know the coming year holds even more changes for our family, most of which have yet to be revealed. We speculate and hope but at the end of the day, we simply don't know until we know. And I know it's the same for yours. Our stages of military life vary so drastically that it seems impossible to feel a sense of camaraderie, to swap similar stories so effortlessly. And yet, we have bonded over something as simple as how much dirt a pair of combat boots can track through a house. (Seriously, I think they looked at tank tread and thought How can we put that on the bottom of a boot?)  But many of us know the feeling of finding a favorite pair of shoes buried under a stack of books in a box. Or the look on your spouse's face when they find us flat on our backs, flapping limbs and making packing paper angels under the dining room chandelier. We are raising kids, gasping at how quickly our kids have grown, moving for the first time or the last, finding comfort in the routine or feeling annoyed that it's interrupted too quickly. We all know what it is to have a closet dedicated to pro-gear and a duty to a mission greater than ourselves. The new year may be full of changes for you, too, or more of the same, at least for another 12 months.

If you are due to move this year, I wish you a flawless PCS. May your driver be on time and not a day earlier or later. May his crew clear the FBI background checks and arrive fresh and ready to work, even when the temperature threatens to hit triple digits and the humidity is already there. May Transportation honor your previously agreed upon delivery date and never once threaten to put all of your stuff into storage for some undetermined amount of time, not to exceed the next time you're due to move. May they not throw your handcrafted burlap tree skirt in the bottom of a box marked "Garage Liquids". May your moving truck be solid, routinely serviced and able to handle the task at hand. And dear God, may they send a truck big enough the first time around. May your new home feel comfy and cozy, even as the unpacking stretches into weeks and then months. May you find the energy to complete your gallery wall, even if you can use number of months instead of number of years to define your time there. May you only need post-it notes to remind you of what's in every drawer and cabinet for a maximum of a week. Unless, of course, you are learning a new language and your cups are now tassens. May you locate the grocery, pediatrician, public library, school, dentist, gym, church, auto repair and no less than 3 coffee shops with relative ease. May they all be conveniently located to your home, just as you had planned. May you find at least one friend who is not crazy, is not trying to defraud the government, understands that their kid is not perfect, will sweat with you, laugh with you, and offer to babysit when all you want is to see Star Wars before it comes to Netflix, will encourage you to take Mommy Time and discourage you from letting the military control 100% of your life 100% of the time. May you never want to leave and when it comes time, may you find the strength to do all of this all over again.

If you are staying put in 2016 but looking at a move down the road, may you find a way to continue to live in the moment, experiencing some things for the second year but seeing each one from a new perspective or diving a little deeper than the first time around. May you finally have your home arranged and decorated exactly as you want it and have enough time to enjoy it in this "finished" state. May you say hello more than you say goodbye. May you see the virtue in helping new families find their way around, asking nothing in return except a tiny chunk of good Karma. May you have the foresight to begin buying gallon baggies in bulk when they go on sale now. May you relax in this state of calm, simply relishing in the routine of day-to-day life as many experience it regularly but is rare for military families. May your best friend PCS the day after you.

If you are staring at a deployment this year, please know that we are a grateful nation. Every single one of us. Even if we don't shake your hand or hug your neck or even say the words. May you always feel lifted to a pedestal that is impossible to tumble from. May you have casseroles delivered to your door, offers to watch your children whenever it's convenient for you, a good cry when you need it and a good laugh when you don't. May you not feel compelled to watch any show produced by Shonda Rhimes until the end of the deployment or any Homecoming videos, especially between Thanksgiving and New Year's. May you always have a project and a bottle of wine to get you through the day. May your days be short and those nights in an empty bed even shorter. And may your children be obedient, patient, understanding and sweet in an unexplainable, almost other-worldly kind of way. Most of have been there, many of us more than once, some of us quite recently. It's Hell but there is always one of us to walk through it with you. Separation makes the heart grow fonder is absolute BS that prints beautifully on a Hallmark card. Separation makes you bitter and resentful and lose sight of why we are doing this in the first place. But many babies are born 9 months after Homecoming so it can't be all bad.

If you are leaving or retiring from the Milspouse lifestyle, let me hopefully be the first to say Thank You for your tireless service and sacrifice during a time when it was popular to be a Milspouse but not at all easy. If you have been serving for any length of time, you've probably endured at least one deployment and several moves. You may have moved overseas or across the country or simply lost track of how long it's been since you've been home. You've probably heard more than your fair share of references to Army Wives or The Unit and you still feel utterly misunderstood by Hollywood and your extended family. You might be packing trinkets that have traveled thousands of miles or discarding furniture that is being held together by extra screws, several layers of duct tape and a prayer to survive one more move. You are leaving a life that has grown comfortable even when uncertainty was the only certainty. And, without a doubt, you will be missed. May your new life be as blissful as you imagined it would be. May you find a well of patience when asked, for the 20th time, where all you have lived. May you resist the urge to move again after the first 24 months, and for every 12 months thereafter. May you stop storing everything in baskets and plastic bins. May your children's first questions of a new friend be something other than, "What's your name and when are you moving?" May you feel the freedom to register to vote, buy a house, volunteer for future events, join boards and councils, feel grief when someone leaves your community. May you find home.

This year, more than ever, I have felt the blessings that military life sometimes bestows upon us. I have made friends, had experiences and discussed ideas that would have never been possible without this year. I've watched our son grow, in all ways, stronger because of the people surrounding us. This life demands much of us but it gives much to us, as well. 2015 was a year of sadness and joy, goodbyes and hellos, love and loss, burnt dinners and the best butternut squash lasagna recipe ever. It was a rollercoaster ride with the very best of my MilSisters riding in the car beside me. Sometimes it feels like a sorority of sacrifice but I hope we always feel more like a sisterhood of service.

With love, admiration and the very best of wishes,

Ally