I make it a point to shower, get dressed and wear makeup every day. There are days that this little routine doesn’t happen until about noon. And lately it’s been a toss up if it’ll happen at all. Oliver’s been down with a nasty flu since Saturday, Jessica came home early from school yesterday.
I didn’t even put a bra on today.
My kids don’t really care if I have jeans on or my socks match. They tell me I look weird (read old and tired) without makeup, but they love me anyway. There is no specific routine to “showing up” to be a mom every day. Like my husband, who wakes up and readies himself for a day at the office – I wake up IN my office.
The coffee won’t be made for me when I get to the kitchen, the dishes won’t clean themselves. There weren’t cleaning crews here all night taking care of the carpets, surfaces and plants. That’s me. All day. While I manage our team of specialists. In finger painting and dancing and program-referee-watching.
Getting dressed after I shower, applying my makeup, makes me feel like I’m showing up. Like I just took the commute to work where I’ll be greeted by other adults I’ll have to work with, or learn to work with, where I’ll have conversations about what we did this weekend or what we’re doing next … I like that feeling. I like belonging (even if by proxy or paycheck) to something besides my dishwasher and the bleach.
But here I am, in my yoga pants and towel wrapped hair. Naked face, no bra, sick kids and dishes every where. And I still came into work this morning. In all it’s guts and glory – and I’ll be right here until my job is done.
And when they’ve grown to certain independence I might venture to an office and show up once in a while. I might ready myself for work outside of the home. It sounds exciting: until I realize that this will be done. The (often frustrating) days of homework, yet completely rewarding days of holding hands and tire-swinging … I’ll get to look back and think “I loved my job.”
And bra’s just don’t care about any of that.