I’m a Stay-At-Home-Mom.
Weird. That’s the first time I’ve ever written that down.
I can be found daily dressed in yoga pants, with messy and likely unwashed hair, juggling children.
It wasn’t always this way. I was a working professional who was well-kept and sharply dressed. I never left the house without thoughtful execution of my outfits, from hair, to handbags, to shoes. Everything was just right. Hell, my underwear even matched.
Go ahead, scoff at the old me; I’ll join you.
The change must have happened slowly, because I barely noticed it until one day I cringed when I locked eyes with this haggard looking woman that must have gone out forgetting to get dressed.
Shit. That was my own reflection.
Was I one step away from an intervention? Were people talking about me?
Trying to get out the door with kids can be like trying to keep your head above water in a tsunami. It’s a precision military operation to get the little people dressed, fed, cleaned up, get their shoes and jackets on, and put them in the car. Once you buckle the last belt, you have an 18 second window to actually get yourself ready before shoes and jackets go flying and you have a car full of small angry nudists ripping off their clothes.
The result is you leave the house without getting a chance to feed or dress yourself properly. By the time you are all driving down the road, you realize you’re starving and a quick glance in the rearview mirror confirms that you appear to be an itinerant hobo living out of your back seat.
I had no issue with walking around in public like this until the day I mistook my reflection for a elderly street-person. Clearly my friends had gotten used to it, too. Shame on me, and shame on their kind hearts for not mentioning my plummet from grace.
How hard could it be to take a few minutes for myself in the morning? I decided to do a little social experiment to see where a few minor adjustments would get me.
Here’s what I did:
- I threw on ‘real’ pants instead of yoga pants: No extra time needed.
- I grabbed a clean shirt, instead of the one on top of the dresser from last night, with just a bit of baby puke on it: 10 seconds extra.
- I ran a brush threw my hair before I tied it up: 30 seconds extra.
- I added a quick coat of mascara to my nearly non-existent eyelashes: 30 seconds extra.
- Swapped lip balm for lipstick: No extra time needed.
- Switched my go-to Uggs for real shoes that matched my real pants: No extra time needed.
That was all I did, and what happened next was kinda magical. I’m not sure if it was a sign of how far I’d let myself slide into laziness or that I just looked damn good now that I finally washed my face.
Right away, people noticed my transformation from sloth-hood back into the clean clothes wearing side of society.
I got several eye brow raises and “You look nice today” comments from my friends and family. I couldn’t decide if I was happy for the change, or embarrassed of my past behaviour.
1 minute and 10 seconds worth of extra time and I could already tell that I looked human again. I felt human again, like I wasn’t going to cower in embarrassment if I bumped into anyone I knew. Surely, I can spare 1 minute and 10 seconds? Surely, I owe myself 1 minute and 10 seconds?
A few better decisions, barely any time, and the crazy old woman in the store window became young again. She clearly had a home now–probably even a nice one. She no longer looked defeated. She had her shit together.
Join me! Take 1 minute and 10 seconds to go from haggard, to hell ya! It feels good. You deserve it. Kick your own reflection’s ass.
The next hurdle: Reuniting with shampoo!