Another article from Betsy and me….
Enjoy!
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It was my husband’s high school reunion, and I (Betsy) looked gooood. After three exhausting hours at the mall, I had found exactly the right dress-which hit me in all the right places, in a bright, look-at-me pattern-and a pair of killer heels. My hair was root-free, done two weeks before the event so that the color would have a chance to “settle.” My skin was glowing, thanks to a tub of expensive microdermabrasion cream that I’d read about in a magazine, and it was uncharacteristically tan, thanks to diligent applications of self-tanner. My teeth were just the right shade of white, and my makeup was perfect.
Sigh. Those were the days. The pre-kid days, that is.
I used to live for fashion, never wanting to repeat the same outfit in a week.
Now my closet consists of Old Navy tanks, which I buy every year in multiples, and one or two pairs of sweats that my poor husband has to see me in practically every day.
(Does it count that they’re Juicy?)
I comfort myself with the idea that at least I’m being environmentally conscious.
The tanks get recycled every year, with the somewhat stained ones going into the workout drawer, and the really stained ones going into the sleepwear drawer. And that’s not just me.
Now my closet consists of Old Navy tanks, which I buy every year in multiples, and one or two pairs of sweats that my poor husband has to see me in practically every day.
(Does it count that they’re Juicy?)
I comfort myself with the idea that at least I’m being environmentally conscious.
The tanks get recycled every year, with the somewhat stained ones going into the workout drawer, and the really stained ones going into the sleepwear drawer. And that’s not just me.
Yeah, before kids I (Summer) was with it, too.
Almost all the time.
My bras and underwear matched, and in fact I didn’t even know that they had underwear that covered the butt way back then.
I showered and washed my hair every morning, and even took the appropriate hour to blow dry and style.
I loved makeup, and I never left the house without eyeliner.
Almost all the time.
My bras and underwear matched, and in fact I didn’t even know that they had underwear that covered the butt way back then.
I showered and washed my hair every morning, and even took the appropriate hour to blow dry and style.
I loved makeup, and I never left the house without eyeliner.
Now, I too have drawers full of the exact same sweats.
But in several colors, you know, to throw people off. I like to make them think I’m wearing something new.
I also have fifteen Hanes tank tops for men that, of course, I wear sans the bra.
Daily.
(I should mention boobs are a whole other subject, and yes, there will come a day that a bra won’t help keep them perky, so you kind of give up a little. Just me?)
Then, right next to those are the twenty pairs of full-coverage underwear (okay, okay….maternity undies) that I could never go a night without sleeping in.
(I have one lucky husband!)
But in several colors, you know, to throw people off. I like to make them think I’m wearing something new.
I also have fifteen Hanes tank tops for men that, of course, I wear sans the bra.
Daily.
(I should mention boobs are a whole other subject, and yes, there will come a day that a bra won’t help keep them perky, so you kind of give up a little. Just me?)
Then, right next to those are the twenty pairs of full-coverage underwear (okay, okay….maternity undies) that I could never go a night without sleeping in.
(I have one lucky husband!)
My problem is that I’m still in denial.
Half my closet admits that, yes, I am indeed a mom of two, but the other half is sure that any day a massive wave of social events will hit my life.
On that side are dressy jeans, high-heeled boots, and sassy stylin’ tops.
Everything on that side was purchased on one of those days when I just felt that I couldn’t take another day of sweats even if my life depended on it.
With a wild hair up my butt, I’d leave the kids with my man, and then I stop, drop, and roll off to the mall.
I then fill my arms with the trendy high-fashion items I’ve been drooling over in the magazines, and I spend hours in the dressing room savoring every moment in the to-die-for outfits.
Half my closet admits that, yes, I am indeed a mom of two, but the other half is sure that any day a massive wave of social events will hit my life.
On that side are dressy jeans, high-heeled boots, and sassy stylin’ tops.
Everything on that side was purchased on one of those days when I just felt that I couldn’t take another day of sweats even if my life depended on it.
With a wild hair up my butt, I’d leave the kids with my man, and then I stop, drop, and roll off to the mall.
I then fill my arms with the trendy high-fashion items I’ve been drooling over in the magazines, and I spend hours in the dressing room savoring every moment in the to-die-for outfits.
We’re kind of sad, huh?
We know.
But don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what we’re talking about.
We know.
But don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what we’re talking about.
Look, we don’t care what anyone says: After you have kids, your looks are never quite the same.
Because no matter how hard you try, there will always be something a little off:
Dark circles you can’t hide. Spit-up on your shirt that you thought you had blotted out.
Three-day-old hair.
{which is healthy for your hair, btw! just sayin’!}
Stretch marks, despite the fact that you spent hours rubbing expensive “miracle” coco butter all over your stomach.
Because no matter how hard you try, there will always be something a little off:
Dark circles you can’t hide. Spit-up on your shirt that you thought you had blotted out.
Three-day-old hair.
{which is healthy for your hair, btw! just sayin’!}
Stretch marks, despite the fact that you spent hours rubbing expensive “miracle” coco butter all over your stomach.
Because as much as you love and adore them, your children have a way of sucking the good looks (and mental health) right out of you.
Instead of spending hours at the mall looking for just the right outfit, you spend hours at the park in your sweats. Because even if you had the time to go shopping, you wouldn’t want to drag your toddler with you. Because your child will inevitably throw a grand mal tantrum on the floor of the dressing room the minute you’re ready to start trying on jeans.
So you resort to ordering hoodies online because-who are you kidding?-you don’t have any place to wear that cute top anyway.
And instead of spending an hour blow-drying and expertly putting on makeup, you let your hair air-dry in the car and hope you hit the stoplights just right so you can put on a few swipes of mascara.
So you resort to ordering hoodies online because-who are you kidding?-you don’t have any place to wear that cute top anyway.
And instead of spending an hour blow-drying and expertly putting on makeup, you let your hair air-dry in the car and hope you hit the stoplights just right so you can put on a few swipes of mascara.
This doesn’t happen overnight.
It just creeps up on you until one day you find yourself staring at the cute girl in the grocery store who obviously just got off work.
The cute girl that, just five years ago, was you.
It just creeps up on you until one day you find yourself staring at the cute girl in the grocery store who obviously just got off work.
The cute girl that, just five years ago, was you.
Let’s recap a conversation we once had on a walk with our “gackle.”
(a group of our mom friends in our neighborhood)
(a group of our mom friends in our neighborhood)
Betsy: “Summer, how come your hair looks so cute today? It’s 9:00 am! There should be rules against that kind of thing.”
Summer: “Don’t worry. This headband is just disguising the fact that it’s been four days since I’ve washed my hair.”
Betsy (admiringly): “I’m so jealous! I wish I could go that long and still have my hair look decent. I can only go two or three days at the most.”
At this point, several of our friends jumped in and started bragging about how long they’d gone without showering.
Even after hitting the gym.
Even after hitting the gym.
To clarify: These are not your mousy, stamp-party moms.
These are cute, stylish, hottie moms.
The kind of moms that got “Most Beautiful Eyes” in high school, were the president of their sorority, and had all the guys drooling after them.
Yes, things have gotten so bad among our gackle friends that now when we get dressed up, we call it “going undercover.”
Let’s explain:
You show up to an event-church, a dinner, or a party-and for once, you’re all done up.
Then someone comes up to you and says, “Wow, you look great! I almost didn’t recognize you. Did you change your hair?”
Then someone comes up to you and says, “Wow, you look great! I almost didn’t recognize you. Did you change your hair?”
You: “Nope.”
Other person: “New outfit?”
You: “Nope.”
Other person: “Lose weight?”
You (finally getting it): “Uh, I think it’s that I showered.”
See, even when we do try it’s not the same.
Take for example, the birthday party I (Summer) went to last weekend.
I thought I had my stuff together.
I showered, washed my hair, and I even brushed my teeth all before noon!
I had on cute jeans, a new ruffled tank top, and pointy-toed flats.
I was cool; I was hip.
I was not going to be the mom that let herself go.
When we arrived at the house, I noticed a sign on the door.
A big sign that was going to force me to show that I, indeed, did not have it all together.
That sign said, “Please Remove Your Shoes.”
A big sign that was going to force me to show that I, indeed, did not have it all together.
That sign said, “Please Remove Your Shoes.”
It had been weeks since I’d updated my toes, and the polish was beyond chipped.
Everyone was going to find me out.
So I did what any normal person would.
I pretended I didn’t see the sign and walked in with my shoes.
At which point the hostess said, “Hey, Summer, can you please take off your shoes?”
So I took the walk of shame back to the hallway, discarded my shoes, and tried to keep my toes curled under all during the party.
Everyone was going to find me out.
So I did what any normal person would.
I pretended I didn’t see the sign and walked in with my shoes.
At which point the hostess said, “Hey, Summer, can you please take off your shoes?”
So I took the walk of shame back to the hallway, discarded my shoes, and tried to keep my toes curled under all during the party.
But don’t lose heart, mamas.
Fortunately, there is a light at the end of this sad and ugly tunnel.
Fortunately, there is a light at the end of this sad and ugly tunnel.
Just last weekend, I (Betsy) embarked on another marathon shopping trip. For the first time in a long time, my husband and I had cash-the glamorous reason being that we’d just sold our junk at a garage sale-and the money was burning a hole in our pockets. We took our daughter, Lily, to get some summer clothes, and then we started looking for ourselves. The whole time, I kept waiting for my almost-four-year-old to lose it. After all, we’d already been to three stores. But she patiently watched me try on top after top after top.
Four long, exhausting hours later, we all walked to the car with a sense of accomplishment. Sky and I were ready for a nap. But Lily looked up at us, smiled, and begged us to let her change into her new dress.
And then she asked, “What are we going to buy next?”
© 2012 “Le Musings of Moi”
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I had to laugh reading this. It’s how I feel buy being a hair stylist I literally can’t afford not to go all out every morning. My income depends on me looking good!