Frumptastic!

I think it happens to all women at some point, particularly if they've gotten into some kind of lifestyle rut:

-a long term relationship (you know, the kind where you stop going out and start ordering pizzas and going to Blockbuster and you kid yourself because you're just SO comfortable being with him on your couch in sweats),

-working long hours and being so exhausted that the idea of putting on makeup is unattractive because you know that about 12 hours later, you'll just need to take it off again,

-you're a newlywed and you've gotten your bling and your thing and quite frankly, it's time to put the darn fishing pole away

-you're a mom and you've been home for awhile. THIS would be me.

We spend many holidays with my husband's family at their farm in New Hampshire. It's a place like no other....beautiful views of Mt. Chocura, a 13 acre apple orchard, farm animals to delight kids of all ages, amazing home-cooked food and the crispest air you've ever breathed. It's a place where you can leave your hair down, literally and figuratively. I don't pack a hairdryer, I don't pack my makeup....just my floss, toothbrush and maybe some moisturizer to slap on as I'm getting myself ready for the day.

When I was working, it was wonderful to get comfy in my sweats, pull up a ponytail, and take a break from the beautification drudgery of my Monday through Friday gig. Now, though, I've been home for almost 8 months. No more daily makeup. No hair styling. No matching my outfit. In the first few post-partum months, it was a coup to change out of flannel pajama bottoms and into maternity sweat pants before 1pm. I always took my showers (10 minutes minimum with water hot enough to potentially burn skin...that's how I like 'em!), brushed my teeth and wore my moisturizer (I'm now listening to my mother's sage skin advice, I've never seen a blemish on that woman's face), but other than that, there was no fancifying my look.

So, up in New Hampshire this past holiday, I was surrounded by family. One of the women there is a mom also and her son is about 3. Her hair was done.....her makeup looked great. She had a cute outfit and fun furry boots. She looked fantastic.

I took a look at myself in the mirror before we sat down to eat. Maternity sweatpants, with stains. Maternity t-shirt, with stains (appropriately placed too in the one area-ok, two areas, you really want stains, hair in a 1994 hair comby-clip, no makeup, Sasquatch brows. And the Pièce de résistance.....the non-skid socks from the hospital that I got when I had my second baby.

I knew I was in trouble. I had slipped. I realized that I had become. Frumpy. Frumpilicious. Olli Olli Oxen Frump. On a gadda da Frumpa. Frumpelievable.

I'm trying my best to turn this sinking ship around. I had a quick and dirty plucking session. I have filed my nails. I've banished my maternity wear to my workout wear-drawer, and thanks to a gift from my Dad...I've gone shopping. I didn't go crazy because I'm hoping to be down another size in the next few months, but I did get some fun stuff. Wanna see?

My first choice could still be deemed Frumpulous, but they're NOT. I swear. Yes, they're clogs, but they're save your black clogs. Look good with black or brown clogs. And some beautiful cashmere-blend sweaters from my favorite store. Oh, and two things for the kids.

So, it was all about a Mommy Makeover when I went shopping this weekend. Feel-good Mommy. Look-good Mommy. I'm going to take off my long sleeve gray t-shirt and kittycat pajama bottoms before 12 noon, Mommy.

So, thank you to CHRIS...my pretty Mommy inspiration. I'm turning down the ponytail holder and going for the cool headband. I'm throwing on some concealer just for the hell of it. I'm choosing my fun new shoes over my tattered slippers. And, although I'd love to dive in with facials and maybe a pedicure every few months, I'll hang here for a bit in the stratosphere between Frumpy and Fabulous.

Patrol

Warning: this may gross you out.

I hear that all parents have an experience like the one I had today. The moment when we're installing a carseat in our minivan, wiping rice cereal off of a ceiling, or attempting to negotiate with a toddler and it hits us: we're parents, and our carefree life is gone. Forever.

Necessary disclaimer: I love my life and husband and children and wouldn't change any bit of it.

Today was promising in that I was going to actually cross things off of my 'to-do' list. Tidy bathroom, check. Organize coupons, check. Wrap most of Christmas gifts, check. After one baby went down for a nap, my toddler roused herself out of a solid two and a half hour snooze and I went in to assess the situation and ready her for lunch.

The smell hit me before I could open the door.

Aaah, yes. The nap-crap. Nothing like pooping in your sleep, I guess. Everything just...relaxes. So, in I go. I notice a suspect bulge in her sleeper (a brand spanking new one, of course!) and the reality of what had occured hit me like a brick.

'Good afternoon, Peanut. Did you....um....take your diaper off?'

Nods affirmatively.

'Oh....okay. Let's see how we....okay.'

'Poop!'

'Yes, honey. Poop. You sure did. Wow, it's actually in the foot of your sleeper. Wow. Wow!'

'Wow!'

I ponder: do I just drop her in the tub or attempt to remove offending material on changing table first? I decide to take her to the changing table to assess the damage.

There is a lot of damage. Hard to look at damage. Can't breathe through my nose damage. How the hell am I supposed to make a dent in this, damage. I think I just saw a raisin, damage.

After the initial cleanup efforts, I take said toddler into the tub. It ain't pretty in here, either. I suddenly foresee some Comet scrub and elbow grease in my very near future. Aforementioned toddler is pissed about having to stand in the shower, and especially dislikes my 'Silkwood-esque' scrubbing of her torso. Amidst my showering of praise, 'You are doing SUCH a good job while Mommy cleans you, good girl being so patient' I realize that I'll need to eventually pick up and clean the sleeper that I tossed immediatley into the toilet (yes! that WAS my best option).

And so that is when I had my moment; I'm really not in Kansas anymore and there MAY be shit on my elbow.

In truth, the whole operation probably only lasted 20 minutes. The memories, however, will last a lifetime. And later, when loading the dryer with the twice-washed garments, I saw it.

A raisin.