Don’t you admire those women, the ones who have their shiz together? The ones who open their purses without ritz cracker crumbs falling out; the ones who walk down cobblestone streets without scuffing their boots; the ones who wear classy pendants, not peanut butter fingerprints, around their necks.
The ones who have never, ever, run to catch a bus.
Maybe they were born that way, maybe they weren’t; maybe they’re mothers and maybe their not. Maybe their lives are ridiculously easy, maybe they live a secret hell—I couldn’t say; I’ve never dared to ask one.
But I love to watch them. There are so many here. It’s not a peasant thing, no French revolution brewing, nothing unjust in their perfection. I don’t hate, resent, or even envy those women. I just appreciate, admire.
I don’t aspire, not at all, because the truth is, even if I had all the money, help, and time in the world, I still wouldn’t be put together. I’d love to blame my children for making me decidedly less sexy, but the truth is, I was never a kitten to begin with. Before the kids, there was the art—years and years, and finally a degree, in art, which means I dressed like a dockworker, one doused in smelly paints and chemicals, for quite a lot of my life. Hot.
I have, in fleeting moments, thought that with enough effort, I could become one of those women. Then I would sober up and realize that was never going to happen—that poise, supreme organization, and style aren’t things you can just pick up like knitting. They require commitment, determination, and probably better genes than I possess. This used to bum me out, but now I think it’s kind of a relief—being put together looks exhausting. It’s something best left to the experts. I’ll spend my energies elsewhere.
But still sigh with admiration whenever I see them, like I do for Olympic athletes and Nobel Prize winners. Rock on, perfect sisters, rock on.
I sound like a crazy fangirl but I love your writing so much.
Jon’s mom and sister are like that. Imagine marrying into that! I spent a lot of time trying to dress better when I first met Jon and I had a lot of anxiety about not looking good whenever we had family get togethers.
I learned the secret of those women though. They care so much about everything looking perfect that they pretend it is perfect, even when things are terribly and horribly wrong. Small things (making the Thanksgiving gravy with sugar instead of flour and everyone was too polite to say anything and ate it!) to big things (collapse of Jon’s mom’s marriage… which is still a surprise to her 10 years later because things “were perfect”).
I’m considering moving one town over from where I live now, and there’s a big contingency of “perfect” moms there. I see them at preschool already, since our school is in that town. I’m the sweaty bum in yoga pants, and they’re all blow-dried and cute.
While I don’t aspire to perfection and never will, I don’t think it would hurt if I tried to take a lesson or two on being put-together on a daily basis. Hell, I watch What Not to Wear. They’re going to come arrest me soon. Maybe after pregnancy…
I am like you – no money in the world will make me organized. It’s funny but as a working mom (currently at home on maternity leave) I don’t really see put together SAHM like Goddess mentioned. In fact, was in Target today and I thought it was crazy how many moms were there with kids who should be napping and were fussy. I didn’t think they looked particularly put together.
I am a hippie living in a world full of country clubs & pearls. I totally get this!
And what LauraC said, I don’t want to sound like a crazy fangirl or anything but I love your writing, too! I’m anxiously awaiting the publication of your novel. 🙂
I am, like Laura, totally a fangirl. Oh, like Meg too.
I’ve never been fashionable, or pretty, or elegant. I know that my husband sometimes wishes I’d make more effort to be, but heels are so stinking uncomfortable.
I’d rather be smart, and sassy, and loved and loving. Besides, I think I’m too short and busty to ever be elegant. Plus, elegant girls don’t giggle, and giggling is one of my great joys in life.
I do look at those off-the-cover-of-a-magazine women and wonder whether it’s worth it.
I am honored to have “fangirls.” You are generous, wonderful women!
I’m pretty sure these “perfect moms” are closet drunks. How else could they manage to stand their perfection? I don’t strive to be them, but it would be nice to have the time for more workouts and the money for a good haircut. Count me as a fangirl, too!