So this morning was interesting. It started with me asking everyone to please move it, since my son has chess and we don’t want him to arrive at an empty classroom. The said son, a full six years old, then announced that he, inexplicably, doesn’t know how to put on his underpants (God help me!). My daughter, not one to be upstaged, then insisted on putting on a sparkly dress for school. When I interjected that no, she needs to put on her school uniform, she proceeded to sulk spectacularly. I admitted that yes, since EVERYTHING in the world is under my control, it is also therefore MY fault that the school rules states that Grade RR pupils have to wear blue jeans with the school shirt. We found a compromise – she got to put on her “Elsa” sparkly party dress OVER her uniform. I even managed to conjure a wand out of thin air when she NEEDED it to go with the outfit.
Thinking that the inevitable drama that accompanies my mornings must now surely be over, I grabbed both school bags and car keys, dashing out the front door after my son and Elsa. Only to be met by widespread carnage. My four heathen dogs had grabbed Denise’s bunny soft toy, and were in the process of dismembering it. I shouted at the kids to get in the car, I’ll save bunny. Hence I ran, in stilettos with two schoolbags in tow, after the dogs through the muddy garden. I emerged the victor and got bunny and its limbs. Heading back to the car, I missed a step and crashed down theatrically, grazing my knee into a bloody mess. A few choice words were said, I’ll admit, but I believe it’s not about how you fall, it’s about how you get up. Good thing since I tend to fall down so damn often!
Paul arrived JUST in time to go with the rest of the class to chess, Elsa was delivered to her teacher, who thought that she looked just darling with her dress. Relieved that my ordeal must be at an end, I opened the gate of the school, only to be whacked with another schoolbag attached to another running mom. She apologized profusely, I explained that no, the knee was from ANOTHER injury, not the bag, wished her a great day and got back into my car.
It was as I got back into my car that the thought hit me again. This is my normal. No narrative consultant alive can help me change the story of my mornings. But I am not alone in the struggle. Most mothers have difficult mornings, getting everyone up, dressed, fed and watered and on time where they need to be.
WE simply do not have time. I definitely do not have time to spend hours every morning, carefully hiding my lack of sleep and rest by contouring makeup. Yes I take an effort with my appearance, but it is much easier when the canvass works with me.
Hence my love of Botox. Botox is a gift to the mother, whether you be a full time (under appreciated) homemaker, or a working mom like me. I do not use Botox to make me look younger. Heaven knows I paid dearly for the life experience and wisdom I acquired since being VERY young. But I do not want to look TIRED and stressed all the time. Yes I worry, but it need not be reflected in my face.
I can get Botox in a half hour appointment, and it lasts me three months. Talk about bang for your buck! So if you, woman of the internet, like me, are time strapped, take my advice and invest in this time saving trick. You need less makeup if you do not LOOK tired and stressed. So from one frantic mom to all others, STOP thinking that Botox is the leisurely property of the Ladies Who Lunch. It is for women with stuff to do!
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