Zen and the Art of the Female Psyche

As I was browsing through a friend's photo album, I was making note of all the fabulously-dressed fashionable people in her photos ( including her). I became somewhat jealous and was taken back to a time when I, too, was pretty trendy and well-dressed. Circa 2002 B.C.

Before Children.

Now, I'm not saying this happens to all moms, because I also have some very well-dressed, put-together mom friends. I envy them. The truth is, while it would be melodramatic to say that having children has caused me to lose the will to live, I CAN say that I have lost my will to accessorize.

Most of my days are spent in the company of my two-year-old. This is someone that would be perfectly happy to go out dressed in her Dora pajamas and would also wear said pajamas every day for months straight if I didn't put my foot down and insist that they go in the wash. She is the same person that loves to wear a tutu over jeans with one sandal, one snow boot, a tiara and magic wand. In short, she looks like the lady that hangs out under the bridge with a shopping cart talking to herself. Unfortunately, so do I.

Which brings me to my revelation. Occasionally ( "only in leap years" is occasionally right?) I dress up. When I do, I actually feel good. Common sense says I should then do this more often and it would lift my spirits. So, why then, do I own more pairs of yoga pants than I care to admit? And why do I resort to a pair of those yoga pants and a t-shirt ( long or short-sleeved depending on the season) every day? Because it is easy and I am lazy. I am usually dragging when I get out of bed in the morning. I have to hit the ground running while shuffling kids, lunchbox, homework, library books and the demands of a two-year-old, which is like meeting the demands of a terrorist. It is easy to hit the snooze button and catch a few more minutes of sleep ( sixteen to be exact, I hit the snooze button exactly twice every morning) and get up, throw on the yoga pants, t-shirt, brush my teeth and put my hair in a pony tail. Done.. in less than three minutes. Besides, who is going to see me anyway?

Well, it's the season where packages arrive at my door almost daily and I am starting to sense that the UPS man is scared of me. He throws the package at my front door, knocks and runs. I open my door to find a package lying in my flower bed and the sound of the truck speeding off. So much for "What can brown do for you?" Brown can make you feel like a troll, that's what! But that's fine, because perhaps brown has done quite a bit for me after all. Because I need to do something about this. I don't want to be THAT mom. I don't want to LOOK like a mom! Now, I'm not getting all radical and quitting the yoga pants cold turkey. No, I could never do that! **shudder** But, I CAN try a little bit more every day to make myself feel better.

Maybe tomorrow, I'll only hit the snooze button once. Perhaps I can use that extra time to use my straightening iron to smooth my rat's nest of hair rather than just resort to the pony tail. Maybe I'll even put on my LOFT jeans, which I love and have hanging on display in my closet like the Mona Lisa because I never wear them. You might even see me with a scarf- if that travelling band of gypsies I summoned a few weeks ago would ever show up and trade me one for Zoe.

Yes, maybe tomorrow I will turn over a new leaf. I've already made a small effort this morning. I'm actually typing this in my LOFT jeans ( and University of Texas t-shirt and pony tail)!

Baby steps.