It’s been a strange week of feeling calm at hectic times, and then having to be talked down from fright after accidentally walking into someone using the bathroom in an office building. She didn’t lock the door. I was spooked for 15 minutes after.
I meant today to post about a million other things. I meant today to have been caught up on two professional photo shoots, as well as a just-for-fun one. And still, my time is consumed by watching Des cruise from chair to couch to table. And listening to his soft and rich (and adorable!) voice say my name..well, that’s a story for another day. Friday, to be exact. Stay tuned.
I’m one of those people who never wore sweat pants (or flannel pants or yoga pants) to my early morning college classes. I never put my hair into a ponytail either. I think of this every morning during the morning rush to feed both kids breakfast, make Scarlet’s lunch, take a shower, and get both kids dressed and in the car and on the way to school. I think about how in the middle of winter, I may show up at preschool with a pajama shirt on under my coat. No one knows, because I pair it with jeans and boots. No one can see the hot mess that lives under that fashionable coat and those slouchy boots. She’s there, though.
** Edited to add that I don’t own cute yoga pants of sweats or workout gear. I wear flannel pajama pants to bed – printed with candy canes or moose. Or hearts.
We all feel like the hot mess sometimes, or like we’re the only or the worst one. I think it all equals out.
Perhaps we should say to one another, “I see your hot messiness today on this painfully rainy and gloomy morning, and I raise you one missed alarm clock, one fruit snack bunnies for breakfast for the four-year-old, and one pair of yesterday’s pants.”
Hot mess? I salute you!
Yesterday, Scarlet went to school with her shoes on the wrong feet. The teachers were endeared by this, because they thought it meant that Scarlet put her shoes on herself that morning. And she usually does but we were in such a hurry that I did it. “No,” I said. “That was all me.” “Perhaps it would have gone better if she had done it all herself.” Or at least produce equal results.
We’re nearly late nearly every day. Still we skate in, in the nick of time – Des clutched in one arm, Scarlet clinging to the other arm, and a lunchbox smushed somewhere in there. We’re always just there, and no one can tell just how difficult it was to get there. It’s like a triathalon every morning. And still, we run on. We race on. We reach the finish lines every time. Just nearly.
Speaking of hot messes – Des, an unbuttoned shirt and an (EMPTY!) bottle of beer provides much amusement.
On a completely unrelated note, (nothing hot mess about it!) I’m part of Raising Reagan’s sponsors this month. I’m honored and humbled! I nearly made a twitter speech about it. Lanaya is my girl. If we didn’t have the pesky 3,000 miles apart problem, we’d be hanging out. Daily. Check out her giveaway here:
Enjoy your day, all you hot messes and non hot messes. I’ll be catching up in the meantime.