The First of the Frump
Well, our vacation's over. And though it was glorious, it seriously feels like something I dreamed. Now I'm back to cleaning up a mess a minute in my PJs, and wondering if I was really just shaking my thang in a club in Charleston (answer: yes. I totally was. And PS - Mama's still got it, y'all!).
Rawr.
Anywho, because the vacation-to-reality transition has left me more than a little braindead, I thought it would be the perfect time to participate in a fun little blog meme! Kristy at Pampers and Pinot tagged me in the "Blast From the Past" meme, in which you re-post your very first post evah. The one that started it all. So here it is ... aptly titled ...
Then, this happened ... twice:
Which brings me to the current me. My name is Rita, but the people I talk to most call me Mommy. And this isn't even totally representative of how I typically look (I'm wearing makeup in this picture) but I must retain the teeniest shred of my dignity:
This is why I'm here, blogging about my neverending struggle with "the frump." Because somewhere within me - beneath the ponytail, and the pajama pants you can still find me wearing at 3 p.m., and the crusted food from breakfast, and the smear of baby snot on my shoulder - somewhere, that girl in curve-hugging Calvin Kleins and cute but uncomfortable boots is begging me not to forget that she exists.
It has been soooo easy for me to fall into the frump trap, though. I'm a freelance writer, so I can work from home. I do interviews over the phone, where no one has to see that I'm barefoot and have a Backyardigans sticker stuck to my butt. My husband works a ridiculous schedule with long hours: he works all night, twelve to fourteen hours at a stretch, and therefore sleeps all day. We're like two ships passing in the night sometimes - and I almost never leave the house when he's not off work. I don't need to, and it's much more difficult to run errands with two kids in tow. So I figure if I'm not going anywhere, why should I spend half an hour fighting my unruly hair, putting on a face, and grudgingly squeezing myself into jeans that are quickly getting too small?
In truth, I know why I should be doing all that. Because I deserve it. Because my husband deserves it. Because the girl I was, the girl he married, was the kind of girl who wouldn't be caught dead at the store sans makeup in a rummage-sale sweatshirt. Because I spend so much time taking care of everyone else that I should, above all, realize the value of taking care of myself.
But I've got an almost-four-year-old, a fourteen-month-old, and a baby due this September. And though my husband, bless his heart, is wonderful and attentive when he's home ... he's usually off making a living so that I can afford to stay with the kids and, well, be frumpy. So it sometimes (okay, often) feels like I'm a single mother with a sugar daddy. Even the simple act of showering becomes a monumental task when you've got to work around two little boys. During the day, they can't be left alone while I'm in the bathroom; at night, the shower inevitably wakes one, who cries and consequently wakes the other. So that leaves me to shower ... when the cosmos perfectly align and I seize the tiniest opportunity. And shaving? Forget it. I look like Sasquatch's sister. That includes "down south," where I once meticulously maintained a neatly trimmed little landing strip - which now, unfortunately for my husband, looks more like an open field.
By September, when the baby's born, I will have had three kids in four years. I have gained and lost a grand total of 170 pounds of baby weight (I'm not one of those cute pregnant women with the tiny, out-in-front bump; I look like I've got a baby stashed in each thigh, and my stomach makes people gasp audibly). I have gone from sipping champagne backstage at a Snoop Dogg concert to pre-ordering tickets for Dora the Explorer Live!. It's madness.
I'm not ungrateful for the life I have. In fact, it's what I always dreamed of doing - I just didn't dream I'd be doing it wearing an outfit I'd be embarrassed to answer the door in.
So welcome to my neverending fight with frumpiness. If you can relate, holla!
Rawr.
Anywho, because the vacation-to-reality transition has left me more than a little braindead, I thought it would be the perfect time to participate in a fun little blog meme! Kristy at Pampers and Pinot tagged me in the "Blast From the Past" meme, in which you re-post your very first post evah. The one that started it all. So here it is ... aptly titled ...
Hello, My Name is Mommy
Once upon a time, not so long ago, I was cute and stylish.
Then, this happened ... twice:
Me, plus 1 baby and 80 pounds. Downright freakish, no??
Which brings me to the current me. My name is Rita, but the people I talk to most call me Mommy. And this isn't even totally representative of how I typically look (I'm wearing makeup in this picture) but I must retain the teeniest shred of my dignity:
I'm the one on the right, thankfully minus the 80 pounds from that last photo.
(Note: This isn't the pic from the original post, because I don't have that one on my computer any more ... but it IS the current me!)
This is why I'm here, blogging about my neverending struggle with "the frump." Because somewhere within me - beneath the ponytail, and the pajama pants you can still find me wearing at 3 p.m., and the crusted food from breakfast, and the smear of baby snot on my shoulder - somewhere, that girl in curve-hugging Calvin Kleins and cute but uncomfortable boots is begging me not to forget that she exists.
It has been soooo easy for me to fall into the frump trap, though. I'm a freelance writer, so I can work from home. I do interviews over the phone, where no one has to see that I'm barefoot and have a Backyardigans sticker stuck to my butt. My husband works a ridiculous schedule with long hours: he works all night, twelve to fourteen hours at a stretch, and therefore sleeps all day. We're like two ships passing in the night sometimes - and I almost never leave the house when he's not off work. I don't need to, and it's much more difficult to run errands with two kids in tow. So I figure if I'm not going anywhere, why should I spend half an hour fighting my unruly hair, putting on a face, and grudgingly squeezing myself into jeans that are quickly getting too small?
In truth, I know why I should be doing all that. Because I deserve it. Because my husband deserves it. Because the girl I was, the girl he married, was the kind of girl who wouldn't be caught dead at the store sans makeup in a rummage-sale sweatshirt. Because I spend so much time taking care of everyone else that I should, above all, realize the value of taking care of myself.
But I've got an almost-four-year-old, a fourteen-month-old, and a baby due this September. And though my husband, bless his heart, is wonderful and attentive when he's home ... he's usually off making a living so that I can afford to stay with the kids and, well, be frumpy. So it sometimes (okay, often) feels like I'm a single mother with a sugar daddy. Even the simple act of showering becomes a monumental task when you've got to work around two little boys. During the day, they can't be left alone while I'm in the bathroom; at night, the shower inevitably wakes one, who cries and consequently wakes the other. So that leaves me to shower ... when the cosmos perfectly align and I seize the tiniest opportunity. And shaving? Forget it. I look like Sasquatch's sister. That includes "down south," where I once meticulously maintained a neatly trimmed little landing strip - which now, unfortunately for my husband, looks more like an open field.
By September, when the baby's born, I will have had three kids in four years. I have gained and lost a grand total of 170 pounds of baby weight (I'm not one of those cute pregnant women with the tiny, out-in-front bump; I look like I've got a baby stashed in each thigh, and my stomach makes people gasp audibly). I have gone from sipping champagne backstage at a Snoop Dogg concert to pre-ordering tickets for Dora the Explorer Live!. It's madness.
I'm not ungrateful for the life I have. In fact, it's what I always dreamed of doing - I just didn't dream I'd be doing it wearing an outfit I'd be embarrassed to answer the door in.
So welcome to my neverending fight with frumpiness. If you can relate, holla!
******************
There it was, folks. The inaugural post of The Frump, wherein I introduced myself to my (at the time, nonexistant) readership. With a super-embarrassing pregnancy pic to boot! Yikes!
Now, as with most memes, I'm supposed to tag a few people. But there are just too many to tag! So if you're interested in doing this, do it - and let me know in the comments if you want! It's always fun to see someone's first foray into the blogging world.
I'll return shortly with the juicy deets of that vacation ass-shaking I mentioned earlier. ;)
You never cease to amaze me! Although the frump is part of your daily life, you've managed to, once again, lose the baby weight and bring out that beautiful, energetic girl from the first pic. And all while keeping up with three busy little boys. Keep up the good work!
ReplyDeleteThis may not be what you want to hear, but I'm glad that while you start off cute and end cute, I like that you gain lots of weight when you're pregnant. It's nice to know the women in my family weren't alone, especially considering I'm next in line for the kids.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad you posted your first post! Mine is like two sentences saying "You've been directed to my new blog!" which is actually a lie, because I didn't really have another blog to begin with, but I didn't know where to start.
What a great first post! Nicely done. You were MEANT to be writing and blogging and making us all laugh out here. You are so popular because you are so relatable and have the words to describe what we all feel at sometime or another.
ReplyDeleteAbsolutely love it. AND you've maintained the same humor throughout it all. :)
ReplyDeleteBTW, how do you manage to take phone calls when the house must be falling down around you with three little boys? Nola hangs on me like velcro and anyone I talk to can hear her in the background. "I want to play games." "Mommy, come play with me." "Can I draw on that?"
How do you do it?
Love it!! Thanks for sharing. My first post was so boring it's better left buried in the past! :-)
ReplyDeleteI just read this 'cause the pix was under post #3 on home page - yews is still beautimous, ya know?? But whoa that was a huge baby bump - OR it was the shirt you were wearing! This was great and I wish I'd known you from the beginning!! You make my day!
ReplyDeleteRita...I LOVE your blog!!!! You are speaking directly to a Mom with a houseful of men! Three sons, 4, 5, and 14 years old...and a hubby who works 12 hour days.
ReplyDeleteThe other night at dinner, they were taking turns being, well, "guys"...you know, fart noises, aweful smells, and all that this implies. First, I sat w/my jaw in my lap, then I kind of half laughed, but my eyes teared up because I knew I was fighting an unwinnable uphill battle! I put my face in my hands and said "I need to laugh, or I'm going to start bauling!!!"
I work full-time Monday thru Friday, then pull the motherly "second shift" which includes grocery shopping, fixing meals, cleaning, doing laundry, checking backpacks for homework, etc while Shane is hunting or relaxing after putting in his 12 hr day. Lest I forget our generation's "third shift" where we try to do something for ourselves...like watch a half-hr show w/out being interrupted, or take a long shower (minus shaving, as you mentioned previously) or even a hand of spider solitaire w/out an audience.
And don't get me started w/never changing the toilet paper roll, or can't figure out that the counters, stove, and table need wiped off when you do the dishes!
I chose this life...wanted our 14 year old for so long, then adopted the 4 and 5 year olds that are only 11 months apart! I would never change it, just wish I could get my eyebrows waxed and shave my legs...and maybe even moisturize!
Enough griping from a fellow frumpy, just love to hear other women have crazy stories too!
I will end w/a short story! Dakota, my 14 yr old, made grilled cheese for him and his brothers a few nights ago. He sprayed butter flavored Crisco on the griddle and a little got on the floor. He did not put it back in the cabinet, so Layne (5) and Bradley (4) made the discovery that the spray made the floor slick. They took it upon themselves to cover the whole kitchen floor w/Crisco spray so they could slide back and forth across the kitchen! It took over an hour w/a scrub brush and hot, soapy water for me to get it all cleaned up! So many more stories, so little time!
Keep up the good work...I definately enjoy a moment for a laugh (on a slow day)!