Daily dress code struggles exist for both fancy moms and frizzy moms
By Elizabeth Bottiaux
Yoga pants are my mom uniform. I throw on a tank top, pull on my trusty stretchy and oh-so-comfy yoga pants, and I’m ready to go in under five minutes. They hold everything securely in place. I’m no eye shadow-blending, hair-curling, accessorizing-daily diva. But, being ready in under five could never happen without yoga pants involved. Workout wear is the socially acceptable way to look like we slept under a bus. It says, “I’m sporty and active and maybe even just exercised.”
There are moms who look jaw-dropping amazing every day. I am not one of them. I belong to the get ready as fast as possible, without looking 100 percent homeless in the end, club. If I’ve showered, blow dried and have slathered on under eye concealer to hide evidence of my sleep deprivation, I’ve gone to great lengths to prepare myself.
You know about those moms. They look like they’re ready for date night all day, every day. They’re perfectly polished, coifed and manicured. They appear drop dead gorgeous. How do they have the time to dress up like runway models every single day? Their hair perfectly curled in those long, loose ringlets. I’ve never mastered that tress technique. Their outfits look like they’re straight out of a glossy fashion magazine.
And those heels. Women everywhere know that heels are not our friends. Heels, after a few kids, are miserable. Heels, post-kids, hiking into the elementary school for an hour of helping in junior’s class, or enduring a PTA meeting, are sheer hell. At school pick-up time, I watch as they float along in their teetering heels. The sidewalk is their runway as they strut their stuff. Hand in hand with ‘Lil Susie, their hair is blowing ever so slightly in the gentle breeze and not a trace of the uncomfortable misery can be seen on their faces. But I know. I know they’re suffering. Extreme effort and sometimes even pain is required to uphold the latest trends.
As I sneak glances at them, I try to not to feel shame. I should’ve taken the time to blow dry my hair. It’s crazy frizzy and I look I’m channeling Tina Turner. Not cool. I’m now on the three-week plan at my hair salon. Unwelcome grey roots shoot up every three weeks. Seriously? I’m not ready to look 76 years old quite yet. No way can I get in there every three weeks to have them painted into oblivion though. Shoot. I forgot to wipe off all those smears off my black yoga pants. What is that all over them, anyway? No make-up. I’m officially organic today. Teeth? I’ll brush extra carefully at bedtime. No close talking for me.
No matter how we’re packaged on the outside, we all share similar mom struggles. Our toddlers throw their spaghetti on the dog and our mouthy tweens complain about pretty much everything. Laundry is the enemy. Coffee and wine are our cohorts. We endlessly remind kids to clean up their messes. We spend too much money at Target and forget what even prompted us to stop there in the first place. We lie awake in bed at night worrying about if we’re doing it all right. We overschedule and undercook. We try to strike just the right balance within our traveling circus act. We love our little monsters—who make the title “Mom” possible—so much it hurts.
What I’ve learned about fancy moms and frizzy moms, is that we’re all doing the best we know how. (And sincerely hoping we don’t lose our marbles trying).
Elizabeth Bottiaux is mom to four small humans, ages 4, 6, 8 and 10. She’s a San Clemente resident and has lived in Orange County for the past 16 years. She publishes a blog, www.fourkidsandadog.com, about family life in our tri-city area.
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