I need to get this off my chest: 1. I ate all the Reeses out of Madeline's halloween basket. IN MY DEFENSE, there were only two. And she's only two; she'll never miss them.
2. I spent 25 minutes this morning trying to figure out a way to wear my sweatpants that didn't make me look like a bum. (I'm trying really hard to break this "stay-at-home-mom" stereotype. I wear makeup when I leave the house and I refuse to discuss my child's bodily functions with the world. Yes, I did just link to that bad boy.) Anyway, this morning I was on my second cup of coffee and the wind was blowing magically and the perfectly-selected music was so intoxicating that I decided it was time to get out of the house.
Problem: this means that in order to stick to my guns, I have to change out of my (Dan's) sweatpants.
Optimistically (delusionally) I thought, "Maybe I can dress the rest of me up enough that it will be cute. You know, like I'm busy and productive and casual, but I've still clearly 'got it.'" (Never mind that I haven't washed my hair in 3 days. There is only so much dressing up that can be done with unkempt hair and giant grey sweatpants.)
I put on my favorite long-sleeve black Ann Taylor shirt. Eh, not quite. I tried a cute headband. Turns out it did not hide the left-over hairsprayed, matted curls like I was hoping. I pulled it back. Better. I added little earrings. Hmmm, maybe it's the black circles under my eyes that are giving me away. I slapped on some makeup.
I stepped back to take a look. Oh. My. Word. TOTALLY RIDICULOUS. I looked like someone working from home on a conference call. Chic business on top, superman undies and bedroom slippers on the bottom. I'm regressing here.
Begrudgingly, I changed out of the sweatpants. Did I mention that I was just walking across the yard to the church? To let Madeline play in the nursery? Alone?
Call me vain or stubborn or whatever. I'm standing on principle.
3. So here I sit, all trussed up at the church, sitting in a tiny preschool-sized chair with my knees up to my ears, eating a bag of Doritos and blogging instead of writing what I'm supposed to be writing. I think I'm perpetuating the stereotype more than breaking it. I may go change back into my sweatpants.
Whew. Confession is good for the soul.