I drive my kids to school in my pajamas.

Somebody out there please say that you do this too. Anyone? Maybe even occasionally?

I don't know how this has happened -- but I have become that mom who drives her kids to school wearing the same clothes that she slept in. Every day.

It has certainly never been my goal to be the most stylish mom at school in the mornings. There are the working mommies looking lovely in their suits and heels. Then there are the put-together mommies who are at least wearing make up and a bra. And then there are the moms like me who -- on a good day -- maybe brushed their teeth before pulling out of the garage.

I never thought that our morning routine would be so chaotic that I would have to sacrifice basic hygiene and the most minimal fashion sense in order to simply deliver my children at their school in advance of the tardy bell. But we are seven weeks into the school year already and I simply cannot figure out how to get up early enough to take a shower and put on clean clothes before we all have to hop in the car at 7:30 am.

Colin usually wakes up sometime between 5:40 and 6:00 wanting to nurse. By the time we've wrapped up his sleepy snack session, Brendan is awake informing me that he needs to use the bathroom and that he is hungry for his mango strawberry smoothie.

We all head down for breakfast. I pack up the lunches, drink six cups of coffee, empty the dishwasher, and then it is time to herd the whole group back upstairs to brush hair and teeth and get dressed.

Inevitably, I glance at my watch and realize that we all have to be in the car and moving in about three minutes or the kids are going to be late. This is when I throw on my ugly, shapeless fleece jacket over my Lululemon yoga pants (whatever -- they are pajamas), grab some flip flops and we head out.

Luckily (for the sake of my kids, other parents and school staff), both schools have "Kiss and Fly" drop off lines so I remain in my vehicle in my jammies.

The other fashion victim in this whole thing is Colin -- who never even stands a chance of getting his clothes changed before we have to head out the door. He wears footed jammies until at least 10:30 am most days.

I recognize that the obvious answer to this dilemma is to get up earlier -- like 5:00 am. I could shower, whip up some scrambled eggs for breakfast and maybe even get in a few yoga poses before the rest of the family wakes up.

Totally not going to happen though. Did you see how dark it was this morning? For now, pj's it is.

One Mother's Work

made pancakes
and bacon
extracted splinter
played with horses and firefighters
kissed Daddy goodbye
drank too much coffee
nursed baby (repeat eight to ten times)
made my daily attempt to combat the laundry onslaught
canceled trip to the zoo because of rain
talked to mother-in-law on phone
took a thirty second shower
made three beds
wiped marker off the wall with one of those magic sponge things
blew up the slide for the backyard kiddie pool
told Ellie that I would be happy to watch her babies while she played hockey for the Pittsburgh Penguins when she grows up
went to post office
got groceries
emailed
received unexpected freelance check in mail
decided to use it to open savings account for Colin
made grilled cheese, strawberries and smoothies for lunch
wondered what it is about the show Calliou that the kids like
provided bathroom assistance
vacuumed under couch (yuck)
put a Deigo bandaid on someone's face at his request
made an appointment to have a massage on my birthday
took a thirty minute nap with the baby
administered antibiotics to myself and Brendan
watched happy children splish and splash
coaxed Colin into swallowing a few bites of banana rice cereal
grilled (and unfortunately burned) chicken
cleaned yogurt smoothie out of crevices in my table and deck
let kids have ice cream for dessert
clipped the baby's lethal finger nails
bathed three monkeys
said no, don't, and stop too many times today
forcibly brushed Brendan's teeth
played janitor by cleaning up a million broken pieces of glass
and then played nurse while getting the glass out of one small foot (ouch)
read The Jungle Book
convinced daughter that it would be uncomfortable to sleep with her butterfly wings on
kissed three sleepy heads
told the dishwasher to work its magic
tried to type a coherent thought
gave up
took an extra minute to floss
closed eyes.

I Think I Am Going To Try To Be a Little Bit Prettier.

Based on my limited experiences with spa treatments, I have concluded that there are two types of spa service providers.

There is the lady who says that you are beautiful and she is just going to do a little bit of this and a little bit of that to make you all the more lovely. After said service, you walk out thinking, "I am pretty."

And then there is the lady who reacts with complete horror when she learns that your skin care "regime" doesn't include toner and suggests that you enlist the services of a dermatologist to tend to your myriad of skin troubles. Unfortunately, during a facial last weekend, I came into contact with a flawless-faced lady who wreaked havoc on my already shaky, postpartum confidence. I walked out feeling pretty dumpy (and also a bit perplexed by how I could have so many pimples AND wrinkles on my face at the same time).

My skin care "regime" is very similar to my hair care "regime," my body hair control "regime," and my nail care "regime" -- I don't really have much time to tend to ANY of it. Sure, I get a pedicure from time to time. I haven't had my hair cut or highlighted in four months. Most days I shower and brush my teeth. Maybe moisturizer if I remember. That is about it (except for under eye concealer which I never leave the house without).

These personal care activities often take place with a little person in the bathroom with me who is either asking for help wiping his bum or causing the sink to overflow.

My facial experience has prompted me to schedule some "mommy maintenance" time into my schedule. My goal is to spend ten minutes a day doing something to make myself a little bit more attractive and clean.

Maybe I'll take the disgusting, cracked nail polish off my toes or slather a little lotion on my cracked knuckles. I even hope to break out the tweezers and tend to my eyebrows. (I am painting a pretty picture for you, aren't I?).

I believe that the other moms out there know of what I speak, right?

Here is to a prettier week.

A Positively Putrid Present

WARNING: THIS POST IS ABOUT POOP.

Today is my birthday and boy, oh boy, did Brendan have a special surprise for me. This morning while I was taking a shower (and mistakenly thinking that Brendan was playing with Ellie in her room), he tried to change his own diaper -- which was full of poop. Apparently, his attempt to handle the situation in his own wasn't going so well so he decided to leave his room (which was already basically a HAZMAT situation) and come to my bathroom to get me -- touching no less than fifty surfaces (including my bed) on the way.

I can not (and, to maintain some dignity, will not) go into any more of the details.

The rest of the day has been much better.

My Dishwasher is Broken

My damn dishwasher is broken. Is it the end of the world? No. Is it enough to make this Mama super crabby? Sure is.

Brendan asked me for a yogurt smoothie today and all I could think was, "God, another dirty glass. Great. Damn this kid for needing hydration."

After hours on the phone discussing two very different interpretations of the Miele warranty policy (I lost), I finally have a service called scheduled for Thursday morning. If only no one needed to eat until then!

I'll be back when the kitchen is clean and I am in better spirits.