Beauty - Part 1

It started innocently enough. 

I was browsing magazines at our local library. I grabbed a few, anticipating a rest on the couch where I could flip through a couple. (I'm not sure what I was thinking, but that's how the story goes anyway.)

I picked up a magazine that I guess I am the target audience for: Nearing 40 (excuse me while I blink at that number is disbelief), homemaker, mom, etc. 

I placed it in my check out pile and took it home. I found a few minutes when I should have been cleaning something and picked it up.

I was pretty disinterested by the whole thing, until I flipped to a page that sort of punched me in the face.

It read something like, "Stop Dressing Like a Mom."

Oh. Boy.

 There was this nice, condescending article about how we all needed to stop wearing long khaki shorts and polo shirts and really 

~step it up~

*ahem*

I was pretty ticked, but I turned the page anyway.

So glad I did. 

This is what I'm supposed to wear during "Playtime."

Here are my thoughts, in no particular order:

1. I have never EVER had thighs like that. I'm pretty sure I was born with bigger thighs than that chick has. 
2. I'm pretty sure that is a silk shirt. I'm also pretty sure that that shirt would not fare will with my two boys showering me with their abundant (some days) physical love. Boys are dirty. Silk doesn't like dirt.
3. Her tiny waist is pretty much like the one I had at age 5.
4. If she bends over in those shorts to pick up her phone that her kid dropped from the buggy at Costco, whatever unfortunately person that is behind her is gonna see a least a glimpse of her derriere. 
5. That entire outfit costs somewhere around $700.00. Yep. SEVEN HUNDRED DOLLARS. When I die, if which ever girlfriend (you know who you are) who decides what I'm going to wear spends more than $30 on an outfit for me, please know that I will haunt you forever. (Hopefully it will be some sort of cherry lime aid colored polyester number for my 90 year old self, but I'm good with going sooner than that too.)
6. I'd really like to see her eat that cheeseburger with all that lip gloss on, but I'm probably digressing here...

Then there was this picture:

This, as you can see, is what I should be wearing "Most of the time." So Publix runs, doctor visits, bank/post office/library runs, etc.

Okay. 

What I notice here:

1. This chick is obviously not worried about all of those oranges rolling around on the floor. She must not be of the clumsy variety, because I would be scurrying around, picking all of them up before I did a face plant in the middle of the produce section at Publix (which is also my second home.) She also obviously doesn't have children, because if she did, she would know that a 4 year old would be throwing those oranges to his 7 year old brother, who is now on the other side of the produce aisle, and the girl kid is pondering how far the juice will squirt out when she steps squarely on an orange.
2. Again, thighs? Oh right. I'm supposed to LOOK like that too.
3. White pants on a normal day? Okay, so fine, right now I do have on white jeans, but I'm also afraid to look at how dirty they are. I'm not sure what I was thinking this morning. Thankfully you can bleach white. But I'm certainly not going to wear white jeans to run a gaggle of errands. There's not that much bleach in this house. 
4. I'm sure that when she bends over to put stuff into/get stuff out of that buggy, that necklace is going to catch on the side of the buggy and nearly rip her head off her neck. Ask me how I know. (I went to Wal-Mart once after church, dressed in real clothes. Stuff like that happens to people like me.)
5. $500.00 for the outfit. Hello, orphans? Starving people in the world? Sponsor a kid? Help out a neighbor? Donate to a worthwhile charity? 

And here was the real doozy for me. 

First of all, I tried to deconstruct this picture enough just in case an errant, lost in the world wide web male type stumbled onto this post. I'm pretty sure said dude was inundated with enough estrogen by this point in the post to have fled already, but just on the off chance that didn't happen, I tried to make it PG as possible. But the real pic just shows lacy, lacy you - know - what.

 

That "L" stuff.

(I don't want any creepies finding this blog by searching for any weird words.)

So. 

I'm pretty sure that most husbands love this sort of stuff. And that's great. But they are telling me, in no uncertain terms, if I can recall correctly, that "flannel is for little girls."

Okay.

Again, here are my thoughts:

1. That lady is really, really gonna hate it when her kid throws up on all that silk. I'm pretty sure that silk doesn't do dirt or throw up. 
2. I found that I had a hugely better chance of walking/running in the morning if I slept in a tee shirt/shorts that I could run in. I'm sure that's completely lazy and totally a mental issue, but it works for me for some insane reason. And it's comfortable. And doesn't make me burn up, which may or may not have to do with my old hormonal self.
3. This is where you feel sorry for my husband, but I promise it's not that bad. And at least it's not the dreaded flannel.
4. My 4 year old still climbs in bed with me (us) at least once a week. While it's not my most favorite thing, I'm convicted about being there for him when he's scared or unsettled. And let's be real, how long will he do this? And at what age will I miss the fact that he was little enough to want to get in bed with me? And he wakes me up by patting my arm and whispering, "Mama, I need to snuggle with you..." That's pretty freaking hard to pass up. So I'm okay with that, knowing that these days aren't going to last long. At all. And I'm really not okay with him snuggling with a mama dressed for bed like that.

I'm absolutely sure that there is a time and place for that stuff, and that's fine. But I'm not dressing like that every night. I don't get to sleep all that long (it seems like) so who cares what I'm dressed like? And I don't want to know what that little outfit costs.

Orphans.

I flopped the magazine closed at this point and tossed it back into the library stack.

I looked down at my usual outfit. Tee shirt and shorts. No makeup. Hair pulled back. Glasses on.

I didn't feel beautiful or put together or non-mommy-fied.

I was also mad at myself for caring. But the doubt crept in.

"Should I dress better during the day?"

"Should I wear make up every day?"

"Should I wear you know to bed every night?

"Should I do my hair, eat less, exercise more, wear more lip gloss, try more, try harder, care more, care at all...?"

It all just made me mad.

Stay tuned for Part 2. If you made it this far.