Thursday, May 3, 2012

the act of dishevelry.

Our library has a fantastic program for summer mornings: toddler and preschool storytime.
Every Wednesday and Thursday from 10:30 to 11:00 you can take your kids for an educational and interactive book-reading.
Sounds like possibly one of the easiest ways to look like a great parent, no?
All you have to do is show up and someone else reads to your kids!
(Please note I do, in fact, read to my children on a regular basis, but when you take them somewhere else to do it in a public setting your parenting prowess just seems to jump a level).
I was extremely jazzed when I learned of this weekly activity and during the next week was patting myself on the back for my genius at finding it and how unbelievably more accomplished I'd be as a parent for involving my children in such an activity.
Remember how I said it seemed easy?
When Wednesday morning finally rolled around my expectations pretty much buried their heads in the sand and waited for death.
Not only is it monumentally frustrating trying to get your two toddlers out the door by 10:05 to make it to storytime before all of the good seats are taken, it is even more difficult to also put yourself together at the same time.
Why not just get up earlier and give yourself some extra time, you ask?
Because I am not, nor will I ever be, a morning person.
I can get up at 6 or 7, sure, but can I get anywhere with that extra time?
Nope.
To all of you morning people out there, I salute you
Getting anywhere before noon is a giant accomplishment for me still-- three and a half years into this whole "mom" thing.
You'd think I'd get it together at some point.
It comes as no surprise, then, that I dashed out the door at 10:20 still in my pajama pants (thankfully also considered "lounge" pants).
I luckily had the foresight to throw a bra on underneath my shirt (although how much it mattered I'm not sure, the shirt had a large poop-looking stain on the front--chocolate, I tell you!--and I doubt after that if anyone would notice the bralessness).
This same careful consideration was applied to my hair and thus after determining that the third day in a row without showering (other moms of toddlers will hopefully understand this) was a hat day I threw the greasy locks under some Cubbies gear and considered it mission accomplished.
You know how you've got that fancy diaper bag that you're supposed to fill in an organized fashion because you got one with twenty-three different product-specific compartments in that super-cute pattern that you'll never get tired of?
Well I got tired of it.
All of it.
So on this morning I tossed a few diapers into my purse (along with a tube of concealer to dab under my eyes to conceal yesterday's mascara that had migrated and the occassional blemish), and headed out the door.
Upon our (late) arrival, it became painstakingly obvious that I was, in fact, pitifully under-dressed and under-prepared for this social function.
We squeezed between Mommy A with her designer jeans, professionally-dyed hair, and precisely applied make-up and Mommy B clad in her Puma tracksuit, sleek pony-tail and ridiculously complicated sneakers (I would question whether she actually worked out or not but her sculpted figure suggested he did in fact put in some time).
Awesome.
My lounge pants felt more and more like poorly disguised pajama pants by the second.
As if total humiliation as a female wasn't enough, Mommy A's children (with gelled hair and polos and khakis--are you kidding me??) came over and requested a snack, and parental humiliation ensued.
Not only did she have the fancy diaper bag, she also had pre-apportioned snacks in neat little tupperware containers at the ready to hand out to her children's waiting hands.
I tried to shoot her a look that said "I-don't-approve-of-snacks-during-storytime" but I'm fairly certain it still came off as "damn-I-wish-I'd-brought-some-of-those."
Thank goodness storytime is only a half an hour because any longer in that self-esteem trap and I think there would have been irreparable damage done.


Needless to say, we haven't ventured too many times back to story-time.
And when we do, I make sure that I at least put on my good pair of pajama pants.