Should I go with black, black or black? Yoga pants, that is. The more important question is which sweatshirt? Navy, gray or am I feeling saucy enough for the red one?? Hell, it’s Friday…let’s shake it up and go with RED! Now…ponytail or hair clip?
Yes, those are the burning questions I face daily when approaching my closet. It’s a crazy, spontaneous life but someone has to live it. Jealous much?
What in the hell has happened to me?? A year ago I was working in an office and had been for years …complete with my Ann Taylor (LOFT) wardrobe, heels (despite my freakishly tall frame), and my kick-ass news anchor hair. I loved dressing up. Yes I looked forward to an occasional casual Friday but otherwise I truly appreciated looking put together even if I DID struggle to walk for a solid hour after removing my pumps. I could confidently stop at the store on the way home to pick up a few things and feel completely presentable and some days dashing. I took a lot of pride in my appearance on a daily basis.
Rewind to about seven years ago…I had been a stay at home mom for three years, spending my days in my husband’s boxers and oversized t-shirts. What was the point in dressing up?
I was going to get puked on, peed on, pooped on, caught in the middle of endless sweet potato fights…who the hell did I need to look good for? I had two babies, 18 months apart, both in diapers. I certainly didn’t have the money to buy cute clothes just to wash them over and over, never to fully remove the plum stain on my shoulder from the time it just didn’t agree with Libby’s tummy. Besides, the gentleman was a brand new teacher, still wet behind the ears and earning a sad excuse for a salary. We lived within our means which meant I made due. I was comfortable. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. The gentleman was already locked in my marital grip…he wasn’t going to turn back now! (evil laugh…)
When I went back to work shortly thereafter, it was a nice change of pace. More income meant I could actually afford nicer clothes and was able to piece together a real work wardrobe. I liked it. Dare I say, I was pretty damn decent at it. I got in the habit of buying a little here and there and didn’t feel guilty about spending the money. I even put in more effort at home in the evenings and on the weekends…wha?? No, I didn’t throw on the boxers and t-shirts when the work day ended. To be honest, I typically sported my work clothes through homework time, dinner time and bedtime routines…usually not getting comfy until 10 o’clock at night.
About six months ago I was offered an opportunity to work from home. WOO-FREAKIN-HOOO!!!! I had hoped and dreamed for years that someday I would be graced with such a blessing. It finally came. I couldn’t get home to throw on my yogas and hoody fast enough! No. More. Heels. Well…except during the occasional business trip which was actually a welcomed change to my super-comfy-daily-date-with cotton. So here I am…at home…with a ton of skirts, trousers, ironed button-ups, suits and heels in my closet. Still. Hanging. Up. Collecting dust. Why do I not just hit the local Old Navy and go to town on some cute fresh casual wear?
Maybe being back at home every day, re-submerged my old SAHM universe of making all of the meals, laying on the floor doing homework with the stinky one, being here with my babies when they’re sick puts me back in the boxer/t-shirt mindset. Despite thankfully being in the best financial situation we’ve ever known, maybe I feel like I have no business spending money on clothes when there is no one to “dress” for here. It’s just me. Slowly my cute yogas and fitted hoodies have morphed into all-out sweatpants and old sweatshirts. Who cares if I drop my kids off and pick them up wearing the same crap every God-Bless-ed day? (Don’t ask my tweeny daughter…I’m sure she has an opinion!) Who cares if I run into Kroger for milk in my work-at-home uniform…I live in a nice quiet humble town…no one will notice. (Don’t judge my choice of mismatched flats with yogas. It was dark and momma needs some Kashi!)
Okay so maybe I’m not THAT bad (back-pedaling, back-pedaling…I feel your judgment!). FINE. I am that bad. I look both ways out my door before stepping out to get the mail for fear someone driving by will see me. Folks, that’s not good. I want to punch my SELF in the freakin’ throat. I DO want to look cute again. I don’t want to see that presumptuous look in my husband’s eyes at the end of the day that says “ahhh, you’ve had a baaad day” without even asking me how it went.
So here goes…I’m packing the yogas and sweatshirts away in a “just in case all of my other clothes catch on fire” box. I’m going to follow what Stacy and Clinton would probably tell me are my “rules”. God only knows exactly what they would be but I’m guess something with color that “pops” and pieces that are a little more “structured”…but I’ll be damned if I hit a 360 mirror or wear anything with an ohm-peer (empire) waistline.
But I get it…
Sigh…maybe I’M worth dressing for.