...or in which I become both a d*bag and a trashy parent.
I had many errands to run starting at 9 this morning which resulted in me getting out of the house as fast as possible while trying to make sure that my children looked presentable which usually means I look like dirt. This time I didn't look too bad. Except...
Look, I don't own designer clothes. Or even "designer" clothes. I have some nice clothes from when I was working and I do invest in decent jeans and shirts once or twice a year or I get them for gifts. But I am not a label girl. I do own one pair of Michael Kors jeans that I found at Marshall's 4 years ago for $25 that I adore, because they fit exactly right. I also own a red leather Michael Kors purse that my sweet mother-in-law gifted me with when I was gestating her long-awaited granddaughter. Both are lovely. Both are very obviously MK products, because there are large, slightly gaudy MK buckle, silver, whatever ish things on them. And yeah, that sort of takes away from their beauty but whatever, it's not really a big deal.
Except that today, I went out of the house with both. So here I am, wearing Michael Kors jeans and carrying a Michael Kors purse (luckily, I had on an Old Navy polo shirt) and I was walking around WalMart (where else?) thinking that I must look like a dbag. I mean, if I saw myself, I would think I looked like a dbag. I would totally go, "Wow. Look at that elitist dbag, carrying an MK purse and wearing MK jeans because God forbid she carry a knockoff Louis Vuitton while she's shopping in her Levis.". And that learned me two things: one, I jump to conclusions about people entirely too often and two, I use the word dbag entirely too often. (When I think, say or write it, it comes out like that girl who tries to confess to Mel Gibson in Signs at the pharmacy. So I am actually pronouncing those little stars. Maybe. That makes it better, right?)
At the bank before we went to Walmart, my 4 year old was disappointed to find out that our teller was out of lollipops. She was disappointed in such a sweet way though (" Oh...that's OK. Thank you anyway.") that I told her that we would lol around WalMart for the ultimate lollipop: the ring pop. If there's anything my little sweet toothed, girly girl loves, it's ring pops. So we found them and I decided to get one for my 2 year old too, to avoid the jealousy. I could lie and say my kids never eat sugar, but they do. Not every day but every week and I guess I am a bad mother but they're still alive and they're on the growth chart so, eh. Anyway. I still had to go to Aldi and it was guaranteed busy time there so I decided to hand out the ring pops right away as a distraction. I wrestled with our bags, unbuckling car seats, yes you can put in the quarter, hurry, do you want to ride in the cart, are you sure, you just said you didn't, ect and so that is my excuse for not noticing until I hit the produce aisle that my 2 year old had become one with her ring pop. She had dabs of purple dye all over her cheeks, her hair sticking to much of it, her pale piml t shirt was a lost cause and her little fingers were practically webbed at this point. I kept shopping because, well, we were there. And I just sort of pretended not to notice that my child was covered in candy she shouldn't have in the first place. But what really bothered me was not the disapproving looks I got from the soccer mommies on the other aisles but the fact that I have always prided myself on having clean neat children and subsequently have always looked askance at people who didn't. These people don't know that my kids love brocolli and carrots and fruit and greek yogurt and will willingly eat them every day, they don't know that I usually have them meticulous before we venture outside, they just know that today they saw a filthy, sticky little girl with her mommy seemingly oblivious. So maybe...I should mind my own business the next time I see a child at the grocery store who is a little less than daisy fresh.
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