She wore that dress like it was a Saturday

Some people come out of the closet.

Not me, folks. I’m heading back IN. I’ve been out too long.

I was in the middle of a very important transaction at the local drugstore (Diet Coke and Greeting Cards…2 of my vices)…when a snazzy lady came waltzing in. Her shoes were perfection. Everything matched. Her make-up was flawless, and there wasn’t a hair out-of-place.

I became painfully aware of my yoga pants. The ones that have that little bleach stain on the right upper thigh. The ones that are long enough for a Lady Sasquatch to wear to the gym. The ones I have no business wearing in public. My shirt, baggy and lifeless…with stains of peanut butter that the Littlest had on his cute little mouth, and that he accidentally transferred to my left boob area in trying to climb me like a tree. I probably don’t have to tell you about the lack of makeup I had on, and the way my hair was haphazardly thrown on top of my head in a disheveled heap to give you a little taste of Lisa Out on the Town.

It’s ok, you say! Are you assuming I was sick? Up all night with a colicky baby? Or burning the midnight oil studying for a test? Some kind of extenuating circumstance that has led to me looking like a peanut butter loving homeless girl?

NOPE.

This has become my normal. In other words: I’ve gotten on the fast train to sloppy hag.

How did this happen?

In HighSchool, I took fashion seriously. Every spare bit of cash I came upon from babysitting, birthday cards from Aunt Dorothy, or off the floors of phone booths  went towards the most outrageously  priced jeans, shirts belts, shoes, earrings I could find. I got up almost 2 hours early every morning to primp and pluck, moisturize and conceal. My hair alone was an hour-long ordeal.

The girls from neighboring school districts usually just got up….showered..and threw on sweats.

I didn’t go to that school district.

Every day  at WC was America’s Next Top Model, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Math was a major distraction.

The years after high school weren’t quite as much fun…just because my FUN money had to be used for things like food and rent, but I was still IN on the whole fashion scene.

And then came the babies, the first two 17 months apart. I was still teaching with the Firstborn. She came along to the classroom with me, and I could write a book about that experience. I promise to tell you ALL about that later. When the Montessori School I was teaching at changed hands, I was out of job. With the Middler coming any minute, my husband and I decided it was Divine Guidance knocking on the door.

Two babies+ Husband’s growing income+The Zero chance of finding another school that would let me bring my offspring like small dogs in a designer handbag=Time to Stay home.

I had 2 very short people to keep me company, one of them bellied up to Boobybar 24/7…and the other trying to make me “put Babee DOWN!!!”. I was puked on, pooped on, slimed with grape jelly and usually had some kind of leaking situation going on. Either from me (I swear I could have breastfed a small posse of hungry babies on demand)..or from Middler, who had a lovely habit of erupting after ever meal (his little eyes were always bigger than his tummy) or from Firstborn who was potty training, which was always fun since the first few years of her life she spent naked.

My wardrobe consisted of sweats, and if I was lucky, a clean oversized t-shirt that could be whipped up at a moment’s notice. The Middler is my most patient child, and looking back I find it hard to believe the crazy little hellion he became when he was hungry. I’m quite sure after witnessing one of his startling displays of GIVE ME THAT MILK LADY OR ELSE moments, I totally scared a future mother friend of mine into never considering nursing.

My hairstyle always included a scrunchi, and cherry chapstick was the extent of my makeup. And my mood? I could go from giddy to grumpy in 2.3 seconds flat.

Family-wise: Best days of my life.

Fashion/Makeup/Hair-wise: I was featured in Don’t be Caught Dead Looking Like This Magazine.

So, I no longer have little tinies.I sleep almost every night, all the way through…and everyone is potty trained. My chest does not go off like sprinklers at the first hint of fire in a building, and it’s a rare occasion that I am pooped on.

I have no excuse for this slovenly behavior.

I am ashamed.

I want to be snazzy again.

And so I shall. I’ve been getting tickled at my friend Laura’s Posts. I adore the way she puts outfits together, and the time she spends on her appearance. Today, I went to curl my hair, and thought….I don’t even care if it takes an hour! It turns out, it took only 20 minutes!!(I’ve gotten more efficient in my old age.) I’m going casual, but not yoga pants/peanut butter casual.  And now, if I have to run to the drug store, I won’t feel the need to hide behind the cough syrup when I see that person you never want to see when you are wearing assorted condiments and healthy protein sources.

Katie Herzig sings Jack and Jill*

What? you don’t have time? Yes you do. Go back.