I have a confession to make! And boy, is my mom's heart racing now! (Relax, mom! You probably won't even need your support group of mom's-who's-daughters-have-blogs for this one!)
Here goes: I change my clothes 266 times a day. And JUST like Hannah Montana, hilarious accidents happen! But I don't usually notice until it's too late. My first outfit is called "try-not-to-embarrass-your-son-at-the-bus-stop". He has final veto power and will protest if what I'm wearing looks suspiciously like my rosebud-wallpaper patterned pajamas with red, Quebec slippers (because I am a pajama and slipper connoisseur and would spend my entire life in these outfits if life let me). And why do I stand out at the bus stop with my son? He stands in front of the front window and I can watch him from there, clearly. But... mornings and the push to shove your children into clean clothes, clean breakfast and clean teeth before hurling them out the door can get a little stressful. And standing at the bus stop is a nice chaser. We chat, play games, or just huddle in silence. It is one of my favorite parts of the day which means I will not be skimping on it and if it requires a separate change of clothes, so be it.
Then come the barn clothes, old jeans, boots, cow crap... well, you've seen that one. So risque!
Then I have the clothes I'm going to wear to homeschool or the ones I'm going to drop Blue off in. Experience has taught me that if I am going to go in the car, I should wear a bra (I try to keep one in the car) and non-shit-covered boots and pants, because sometimes I drop by the grocery or hardware store on the way. And this is when it gets interesting if I've forgotten key items like: brushing my hair or teeth, the previously mentioned unmentionable, or clean clothes. The interesting part isn't what you'd expect. It isn't that people look at me funny, point and laugh, call the cops, the health department, or what-have-you. The interesting part is that this is when I am most likely to be hit on. It totally baffles me. Why not hit on the blond with the tall hair and mini-skirt? She sure looks ready for it. Why me? I tried to fix this nuisance by wearing a baseball cap low over my eyes, but that's not off-putting enough, apparently, and I just run in to things and can't find my way out of the store. This whole thing bewilders me because in addition to my clothes being dirty, I am usually filthy (not like THAT!) too. I can't seem to figure out when to shower: before the barn chores, before gardening? Never before bed, unless I want a week's worth of hair from hell that makes Medusa look like a cherub. I think my hair even bit someone last time. Stinky, grimy, wearing holey slippers or shitty rubber boots and all I can say is that I will never understand men. It's apparently not about the shoes for them... or maybe it is. I don't know. I'm usually in some spaced out reverie and won't even notice what I'm wearing until someone makes a move and then I go through this sudden self-consciousness: why is this happening? Is it something I'm wearing? (because I come from the dark ages and learned that it's all about what I'm wearing: everything men think and feel and do can be rightly blamed on my clothes: war, commerce, flashing, etc) And this leads me straight to: Oh! God! What AM I WEARING!!!???? So... I try to wear something normal and clean because some men just need all the help they can get in order behave and if I can remember, by golly, I'll help them!.
Then I change back in to my dirty barn/garden clothes (if I'm not still erroneously in them), or into something comfortable but not for public consumption, like my leopard print velour leggings. They are so cozy and comfy, but scare the crap out of me. I saw a photo of me wearing a hot pink tank top and these pants and I violently refuted that it was me as I would EVER wear anything so tacky! I tried to claim it was a photo of my sister... but that was even more unlikely. Horrified, I faced the fact that I am Peg Bundy. And yet, I find these timeless classics to be cozy and comfy and don them to do whatever it is I do all day around here when I'm trapped inside.
I did go out planting this past week in driving rain. And my rain coat, I noticed, was very skilled at collecting the rain and dumping it on my jeans and down my boots. And one has to ask, "Why the frack am I wearing this?" With the wind, the cold, the rain and the May being on the calendar, I broke into hysterical laughter while wrestling with some black plastic weed barrier. I clearly have a gardening problem if I'm willing to suffer this all and laugh in the face of weather's nastiest.
Then there's the pick-up-the-kids-clothes again, and then making-dinner-clothes which historically requires stainability as well as fire-retardation (although with the microwave, I have reduced my monthly kitchen fires by half!) And, I almost forgot! The soccer and track-mom clothes and another attempt to be socially acceptable. And then we get back to the real reason for my existence: pajamas!
On my bedroom floor are five piles of current outfits, none of which get tremendously dirty, or if they do, they are never TOO dirty for what it is I need them for and that is because I do most of the laundry around here.
This is a true behind-the-scenes confession of a farm grrrl and her outfits.