Diary of a Trainwreck
In a given week, I'm usually five for seven. But you see, my ability to shower is predicated on my toddler's cooperation. She is now at the stage where containment is difficult. She's like a blond howler monkey—excelling at both climbing and screaming. So showering is possible only when she's asleep or when there's another adult in the house. I could wake up at 5:30 AM, but I average about four hours of sleep per night and I crave sleep like Charlie Sheen craves hookers and crazy.
Shaving requires that you have more than three minutes in which to shower. Shaving requires that every single shower you take is not a contender for the fastest shower in history because you are probably leaving your children unsupervised, having chosen personal hygiene over their personal safety. Now that it's summer, my choices are to pretend I'm Eurpoean or wear pants. Bonjour.
Every other day, I actually "style" my hair. By "style" I mean wash it and hope that I remember to also brush it. Sometimes when I'm tidying up the house and I see one of my daughter's pink and green headbands with a large sequined kitten attached to it, I pop it on my head to hold back my wonky bangs while tidying. Then I forget about it and leave the house to run errands and don't realize it's still on until someone points it out like three hours later. But that's not on purpose. That's still a trainwreck.
If it's fairly clean and comfortable, I will wear it. I care not one whit if it matches or is pretty or has a preexisting boobstain. We're talking cheapie yoga pants and cleavage T-shirts pretty much every day. If I'm mostly clean and have remembered to wear a bra, then it's all good.
The upside of all this? It's temporary. My littlest will be both potty trained and in preschool in a few months, at which time I will attempt the slow and arduous journey from trainwreck to traffic stopper. But I'm still wearing yoga pants.