With small kids, I don’t always have the time to fix myself up each day.
That, and it’s not too motivating (or practical) to put on the face and flat-iron the hair for a day of horsing around at the playground or digging at the beach. But I do try to be presentable in public.
There are those days, though, that I dub “run into someone I haven’t seen in years” days (Murphy’s Law. You know what I’m talkin’ about. “JANET! You look… busy.”). Those days I scare myself with a haggard close-up when I discover I’ve left the camera in selfie mode. The days I’d half-expect expect Stacy and Clinton to ambush me in the mall and chew me out over my dishevelled ponytail and overstuffed pockets, if What Not to Wear was still on (I loved that show. I’d still never wear a blazer for grocery shopping, but I loved the ideas).
On those days, I’m ever grateful I have some innocently honest children who don’t hesitate to give me their observant commentary to boost my ego.
These are the sweet times when they rub your legs or scrutinize a spot on your arm with a look of “what the hell is THAT”.
Yeah. This from the people who wear crocs on the wrong feet over footie jammies and keep a sticker on their foreheads all day. Thanks, guys.