Change of a Dress

Recently, as luck and life would have it, I returned to my former career in a part time capacity. Initially I experienced apprehension and doubt. Actually, the truth is I more or less had a temper tantrum about having to add one more set of obligations to my existing laundry list of goals and responsibilities. And so I dreaded it... at first.

But then something interesting, no, magical happened as I began to get ready for work outside the home. My spirits began to lift as I applied my make-up with expert precision. "Like ridin' a bike," I drawled to myself as I gleefully indulged in my love of cosmetics. I artfully applied actual foundation and concealer then proceeded to pencil, shadow and bronze in some features. "Office chic!" I exclaimed to no one in particular. Armed with lipliner and a new gloss my revitalization was unfolding with the greatest of ease. Soon I was shaking out my freshly hot-rolled locks, spritzing on perfume (Jo Malone's Orange Blossom, very light for work) and, wait for it, even choosing accessories!

Finally, I slipped into my perfectly pressed little black suit. It didn't fit like a glove, more of a loose mitten. But I implore of you, isn't it better to try something on one hasn't worn for ages and find there is room to spare? Hell, yeah! So I cinched the whole thing in with an au currant wide patent belt, slid into my wedge-heeled, round-toed, shiny black pumps with buckle detail and sashayed downstairs to show off my svelte new self. I admit it, I felt fabulous, as though I could take on the world and didn't need an extra cup of coffee to do so. My husband planted a big kiss on me, "Look at you, skinny-minnie," he said. My five-year-old daughter agreed I looked "super fancy!"

I felt fantastic all day long. The time I actually spent at work was refreshing, but in no way earth-shaking. It was really just another day at work. I concluded my new-found confidence was directly related to my vamped-up personal appearance and the proverbial "breather" from my regular routine at home.  

Later I had a thought: If we never have a second chance to make a first impression, then what impression are we making on our children by letting them see us only in our bathrobes and sweatpants? That we're not worth the time it takes to look and feel not even our best, but at the very least presentable? That they are not worth us feeling worthy in their presence? We're not paying attention- to ourselves or their perception of us. At least I admit I wasn't. Not enough anyway. There's a fine line between comfy or practical and just plain slobby. 

I know myself well enough to know that if I don't feel good about how I look, then my mood suffers and in the end my kids pay for it. I know I won't be able to pull off hot-mama-tastic everyday of my life, but it's something I can work on. Why? Well, as the marketing people at L'oreal pointed out, "Because I'm worth it!" And so are my kids.