A busy day, kid drop off, shopping with toddler and husband, which always elongates the process, then home 15 minutes before the photographer for some magazine turning up for a photo.
Impress self, managing to shower, dry hair, do makeup and get dressed in that amount of time.
Discover lasagne from dinner three nights ago on jeans during photo session.
And with a particularly hectic and stressful week behind me, a month of toddler tantrums and 9 year old boy smartarsedness, my three-day long conference this weekend, complete with dinner on Saturday night had completely slipped my mind.
Worse, I recall vague discussions re “rock star outfits” people were organising for the dinner, when it hit me that “Oh, shit! We’re supposed to dress up!”
I like to be really blase about fancy dress soirees, but to be quite honest, I do love them just a bit. I gives me permission to be crazy and even if I fuck the outfit up, I can pretend it’s supposed to be like that. Panicy discussions with friends and one offers to whip up a tutu for me. No idea how I’m going to get the rest, but it’s a start.
We managed to miss each other during the day, and I arrive home from the torment of swimming lessons to find a gorgeous tutu on my doorstep. In order to let her know I got it, it’s great and it fits, I figured trying it on would be the go. I whipped off my jeans, whipped on the new skirt and wandered out to show the family. Because I am an idiot.
Monkey Boy said “humph”, Chippie said “Oh, NO, too’ too’ BASH” and showed me one of his 486 billion trains, and hubby made comment on my “nice legs” which, to be fair, could very easily have passed for opaque white, textured stockings.
Self-esteem ruined, I made my way into Godzilla, who always, without fail, says something to make me feel good. He’s the kid that say’s “You look very beautiful, Mummy. I love you.”
In a somewhat bored monotone he informs me “You look crazy. And I can see your vagina.”
Which was cause for great concern. I was wearing undies!
I ran from the room, crying and changed into my pyjamas.
Ate dinner, organised paraphernalia for tomorrow, coordinated showers and baths and the usual evening mayhem. Including increased levels of craziness of children, Godzilla mumbling “fucking hell” under his breath for no apparent reason, and the leg falling off the coffee table. Twice. “All by itself, I never touched it!”
To be fair, the leg falls off a lot. Hubby and I have wedged it back in. We just need to get around to actually gluing it.
Time for bed, and I do need a good sleep given what the next three days hold for me.
However, am having trouble sleeping. Am now worried about my vagina; particularly if its that shade of purple at the best of times.