I will be the first to admit it: I am vain. No, I don’t always have the time, patience, or energy to look my best, but there are some things I just cannot let go of.
I refuse to EVER be seen in public without my makeup. Even during labor with Parker, before leaving for the hospital, the makeup went on. If i’m going to be pushing out a kid and looking like my face is melting from hysterical crying (my part, not the baby), you better believe the blemishes are going to be covered, and the eyes are going to be lined.
We’ve had numerous people crash on our couches after long nights of drinking, and before they’ve even twitched into a state of slight-awakeness, I am dressed and fully made up. No way in hell am I letting anyone but Thomas see myself looking a hot ass mess, and even that i’m slightly embarrassed about, but he’s sort of stuck with me.
The vainness doesn’t stop with just me, though, I feel the same about myself as I do my kids. Generally speaking, I do not let them go out in public looking like scrubs, but sometimes you’re in such a rush that you can’t help but to let a few things slide… not that they care.
Holden likes to walk outside in his underwear like an old man getting the newspaper at 5am to “help” me get the mail.
To be totally honest, i’m sort of jealous about how LITTLE they care about their appearances, not that they need much help. They haven’t had many years on this planet to weather their faces and bodies. They look pretty damn cute no matter what they do… but I still am embarrassed by their occasional hot-mess status.
Boogers caked on their faces like old snail trails? Check. Do they care? Not a damn bit. Meanwhile i’m licking my finger like a maniac and scrubbing their faces with the tried and true “mommy spit” remedy.
Stains all over their shirts because they don’t care that you are supposed to chew with your mouth closed when you eat in order to prevent such a thing? Double check, with Parker being the worst offender. Never a day goes by where he goes in public wearing a clean spot-free shirt. It kills me.
If I allowed Holden to dress himself, he would be a strong candidate for “What Not to Wear.” The kid things a green an purple plaid shirt goes with a red and black plaid pair of shorts; and here I thought I taught him better. Parker doesn’t wear pants, ’nuff said.
Must we talk about the pimples? I thought they were supposed to come until puberty, but alas, my kids have dry skin and eczema and are plagued by “baby zits”, which I find mortifying on their behalf, but they don’t even notice. I doubt they even care enough to look at themselves in the mirror other than when i’m forcing them to brush their grimy little teeth. Meanwhile, i’m spackling so much makeup on myself to cover the tiniest red dot that my face looks like a matte-canvas.
Oh how I wish I could go in public looking like total shit and not get the looks of “oh, she’s had two kids, she’s given up. Poor thing”
I will pass on that, thank you! Back to spackling my face I go!
The only place where Holden even takes the slightest bit after me is with his hair. He is obsessed; I have created a monster. He may wake up with a total rats nest on his head, but he LOVES his hair. My best threat to use against him right now is to tell him if he keeps acting like a shit I will cut it off. You should see the reaction it gets.
I’m sure I should enjoy their enjoyment of dishevelment while it lasts, because before I know it, they will be crying about pimples and the absolute need to have new high dollar (and clean) name-brand clothes in order to score chicks.
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