As a domestic engineer, I find that I have Mommy uniforms. Unless absolutely necessary, I don’t wear makeup, and I eschew the hair dryer at all costs. I work out almost every morning, so my AM uniform is sweatpants. After I shower off the endorphins, I grab for my trusty PM uniform: jeans. By the time my husband gets home from work, I’m usually back in sweatpants thanks to sticky 2-year-old hands (fingerpaints, applesauce, you name it, my daughter touches it), splattered dinner ingredients, or simply my desire to be comfortable. Unless I have special plans late in the day or it's date night, my poor husband doesn't see me wearing anything but Mommy uniforms.
Furthermore, I used to paint my toenails with verve, either because of athletic superstition (I swear I only swam well when my toenails were bright red) or when it's summertime and my feet are more exposed. But now, thanks to winter shoes, Mommy neglect and a highly chlorinated pool at the Y, my toenails have only the remnants of a paint job from about a month ago. And my fingernails, don’t even ask about my fingernails.
So when I get dressed today I am going to pretend I am not a Mommy. I will wear makeup, I will style my hair, I will don something other than jeans, I will not be wearing sweatpants when hubby walks in the door, and I will paint both my toenails and fingernails. Red carpet here I come!
Success! Makeup: check. Styled hair: check. Khaki pants: check. Khaki pants still on upon hubby’s return from work: check. Toenails and fingernails painted: double check. I am officially a domestic goddess.
I had to exercise great willpower when it came to changing back into my uniform in the evening. First, oil splashed up on my shirt while I was cooking. But instead of giving up and reaching for my comfort clothes, I simply started a load of laundry and put on a new shirt. Then, hubby called to say he was going to be late. Oh man, I thought, I have to postpone the sweatpants. And even more difficult was when the kids’ bath time rolled around and a tidal wave crashed on me. (Little C promptly blamed it on her Dora loofah.) But I’m proud to say that I was not wearing a Mommy uniform when greeting my husband. And it did not go unnoticed.
It definitely felt nice to look nice, but the events of this evening made me wonder how long I can keep this up. I'm quite certain I will regress back to my grungy ways the next time hubby goes on a trip and the only people I have to impress are 2 little people who don't really care what I look like. I am just not destined to look like Bree or Gabby in "Desperate Housewives." I mean really, what true domestic engineer wears a cocktail dress while cleaning the toilet and unloading groceries? I guess I'm not that desperate.
YOUR SISTER WEARS COMBAT BOOTS
This is what happens when you leave your children alone to play dress-up. Sadly, I think Little C needs to outgrow her night-time Pull Ups before the Navy will allow her to enlist.