The Scary Mom Emerges: Watch Out, Children!
Yesterday I came back from picking Addie up at school only to look in the mirror and realize that I resembled a woman who had been lost in the woods for a few days. Droopy eyes with eyeliner smeared to my zygomatics (read: cheekbones for you unfortunate un-medically trained souls). Baby hairs sticking out north, east and west. Unapologetically adorned in a muumuu and plaid pj pants. The Scary Mom come to haunt your dreams.
My indifference towards fashion and good looks has only grown since high school and college. What once was jersey skirts, hole-y road race t-shirts and plaid tennies has morphed into those old moms I used to see at the grocery store. Dang it.
When we got home, I took Addie by the shoulders and said, “I think I’m the Scary Mom.” She cracked a smile, her twinkly brown eyes lighting up.
“You’re not scary!”
I stage whispered in my low-joking voice. “Really? You don’t think that this face freaked out the kids waiting for their moms?” I made my best funny face, which mostly looks the same every time.
Addie cracked up and then said, “Can I play on your phone, Mom?” Because kids have a GREAT attention span.
My Scary Mom appearance is only a reflection of what’s on the inside.
I don’t care what people think about me, but if they do think something about me, I want them to think that I’m casual, comfortable and fun.
It’s also a reflection of my current mental state:
a little depressed,
yearning for the mountains in this smoggy, crap weather,
hoping that someday I won’t find eating thousands of cookies as satisfying as I do now.
Wishing I could find the secret ingredient toward raising happy, well-adjusted kids while still remaining happy and well-adjusted myself.
And if someone could make me look like Pepper Potts all the time, I wouldn’t mind one bit.