Posted by The Wizzle | Posted on Wednesday, May 11, 2011 at 9:29 PM
I was getting dressed this morning, in preparation for breakfast, from which I would take Devlin to school, from which I would take the girls directly to swimming lessons, from which I would take Eve straight to preschool, from which I would go directly to story time at the library.
I was getting dressed, with story time in mind, like I do every Wednesday.
(I might have mentioned how much I enjoy story time, yes? I think I noticed today that I am the only person there with only one child. This is certainly the reason for my success. Just a thought.)
As I was pulling on my brown wide-leg yoga pants with the yellow fold-down waistband, it occurred to me that I attend story time each week in the exact same outfit, like an old lady, or a nurse who has an assigned color of scrubs for each day of the week.
Aren't you dying to know why?
1. Story time means I sit on the floor. Iris climbs on and off my lap, turns somersaults, and generally is pretty wiggly. I could literally have to leap up at any moment and stop her from stepping on some poor crawling infant's head and crushing it with her giant foot. This means:
2. Knee-length skirts and dresses are out. Contrary to popular belief, I actually do not enjoy flashing other library patrons.
3. Longer skirts and dresses are out. If I have to suddenly leap up from a seated position, there is a high probability of stepping on the hem and pulling down either the skirt or the neckline, if a dress. See #2 re: flashing.
4. Jeans + sitting on the floor = muffin top. I don't care who you are. I'm over it.
So, that leaves me with non-denim, preferably non-pajama pants with a forgiving waistband, the better to flatter my vanity while I sit on the ground and enthusiastically perform "Where Is Thumbkin?" with a room full of yowling, slobbering toddlers.
I have one item of clothing matching that description. And I have one shirt that matches that one pair of pants. And, well, as long as I'm wearing the same outfit every week, I might as well wear the jewelry that I know complements it best, and I might as well rock my comfiest flip flops so I don't get uncomfortable marks on my feet from sitting cross-legged.
And there you have it. I don't know why I felt compelled to share all that. The one I should really explain myself to is Sherry, the librarian who facilitates story time. She's the one who has to look at my predictable, crazy-old-lady self every week.
Can anyone top my random, bizarre confession? Or am I alone in my rut? What weird "mom stuff" do you do?