This morning, while riding to school, I could see Justin, who was once again riding in the front seat, scrutinizing me out of the corner of my eye.
"Do you get tired of those spots on your face?"
I glanced over, "What now?"
"Do you get tired of those spots on you face? 'Cause I saw this thing you get on TV. You put it on your face, and those spots disappear." (He even dramatically flutters his hands for emphasis.)
He's referring, of course, to my bad skin. And the 'thing' he mentioned is most likely some type of zit-zapping device. Or maybe Proactive, which, sadly, I've tried.
The little brute.
Not only does this kid question my personal hygiene, he's now pointing out the fact that I really DO need to set up that appointment for the dermatologist that I've meant to do for a while now. Or at least invest in some decent concealer.
Truthfully, I didn't apply make up before picking up the kids this morning and most days I don't. It's around 7:30 am when I leave the house. And occasionally...
I'm still wearing pajamas.
Yes, I'm THAT woman.
And yes, it's really not a smart thing to do . People ask, what if you get pulled over? What if your car breaks down?
Well, what IF I get pulled over? Then the officer would see how desperate my situation is. Here's a harried, disgruntled, scary looking woman in her nightwear, no less, driving a bunch of overly enthusiastic kids to a school that's 12 miles away, because she's obviously CRAZY. Of course her foot is a little heavy on the gas! In fact, the officer would probably let me go, just so he wouldn't have to look at me any longer, the hideous, disheveled mess that I am.
And if the car breaks down? Well, at least I'm comfortable in my jammies sitting back waiting for the tow truck to show up.
No, really, you'd think I'd learn by now.
It's always on mornings that I look like death warmed over, with leftover mascara raccoon rings around my eyes and tangled hair thrown up in a ponytail, that Noah announces he has to 'go potty', which is really his way of giving a 30 second warning. And, like I mentioned, the school is 12 miles from our house, so it's not like I can tell the poor kid to hold it until we get home, because the entire round trip takes about 45 minutes. So, there have been mornings when, upon arrival at the school, after dumping the older kids at the curb, I've been forced to quickly park my car, clutch my 4 year old who's conveniently sporting mismatched, outgrown pajamas, under my arm, and run like the wind with him, trying hard not to apply pressure to his overextended bladder, to the nearest restroom to relieve himself.
It's hard to look any more pathetic during that experience. Unless you're also wearing pajamas yourself.
You'd think I'd try to look a little more presentable in the mornings, wouldn't you? But I don't.
And I realize it must be difficult for little Justin to even comprehend why I look this way. Have you SEEN his mother? She's gorgeous! The flawless skin, the long blond hair - I'm sure she's been called Barbie more than once in her lifetime. Even with 4 kids 6 and under, the youngest of which are a set of twins, no less, she manages to look amazing all the time. Stepping from his house into my car must feel like entering the Twilight Zone. Poor child.
But, that doesn't change the fact that he's still sitting in the back seat from now on...