It was only a few years ago that my idea of happiness included long Sunday mornings beginning after 9, reading the circulars, chipping away at the crossword, discussing how my husband and I might spend the day without regard to time, temperature, or tantrums, and enjoying multiple cups of coffee at my leisure. Today…let’s just say the picture looks a lot different.
A perfect Sunday now involves children sleeping soundly passed 6:30, only one “debate” about what makes for a healthy breakfast for a headstrong two year old, no blowouts from the baby that require a hose, carpet cleaner, or hazmat materials, and finishing one full cup of coffee while it’s still warm. As my by fantastic (and hysterical) brother Mike would confirm, we are “living the dream.”
Ruminating on how things have changed so much, I’ve decided to compile a brief list of my life, “then” vs, “now”. Feel free to blast a little Bob Dylan while you peruse the list.
Feeling fashionable meant putting together an outfit that included a trendy top, towering heels, and the jeans of the moment.
I pillage my closet for a shirt that doesn’t require ironing, is devoid of spit up, and effectively hides my fabulous love handles and sagging skin. Heels have been
replaced with sneakers (they frown on heels puncturing the mats at Little Gym), and whatever jeans are lying around that I can squeeze into (I am currently wearing Express jeans circa 2001)
My ideal purse was stylish without screaming brand name, and typically a small, cute clutch for carrying keys, cash, credit cards, lip gloss, and a little moisturizer.
Thankfully big bags are “in” right now, though mine would really qualify as a suitcase. I’m not even sure it would fit the specifications of carry-on luggage because I need something that can carry juice, diapers, spare clothes, toys, Purell, snacks, and
everything else required if we were attacked by terrorists tomorrow and I needed to grab the kids and relocate to a safe house.
My hair would be coiffed at Etore on Market by the always fabulous Randall (yes, a guy from the “neighborhood”- hey) and the entire treatment would require 3 ½ hours- cut, highlights, lowlights, deep conditioning, and blowout. The whole experience was completely self-indulgent and the cost would definitely earn J Lo the right to call me a hypocrite.
Ummm. I think I get my hair done every few months by some girl who lives by my mom, loves to talk on endlessly about her good-for-nothing boyfriend, and effectively butchers my hair in 45 minutes. So, I stick it in a bun and call it a chignon to pretend my look is completely intentional. (Oh, and I hit the box of Clairol whenever it occurs to me to hide the grays).
To Be Continued…
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