Friday, January 21, 2011

The Grunge Routine

My morning routine is quick. Concise. It is a lean 15 minutes, giving me just the amount of time I need to get ready in the morning before having to get my kiddos up and at 'em. It's a schedule that allows for the most possible sleep, with the least possible chance of running late. It's a tight schedule with few "extras". Sure, I'm showered (usually), and certainly I'm in clean clothes (most of the time), but after this scant absolution, there are no remaining minutes for hair or make up. Nope.

And I was okay with that. It's just dropping the kids off, after all. It's only walking them to their line and waiting with them. How glamorous do I need to be for that, right? I mean, really.

I wish had enough self confidence to be my grungy self without any complications. But, alas, once a doubter, always a doubter.

There is a mom there. A tall, lean thing who looks as though she may have walked straight out of some fantasy-world. White blond hair, precise features; an easy beauty. A Nordic beauty. And of course she is able to go grunge for the morning: Yoga pants, sweat shirt, and pony tail. The difference is she somehow makes this Stay At Home Mom uniform look ready for the runway. I, in comparison, look as if I just went dumpster diving. And there she is, glowing away in the morning sun. My hobbit to her Elfin Queen.


There was about 10 seconds today when I let this actually get to me. (Maybe 90 seconds; I lost count after I happened upon my actual reflection and saw my own sorry state). But here's what I've come up with. No, I'm not any sort of Swedish beauty. But I've got some happy Polish going on that works for me. And my hair may not be long and nearly pure white, but golden highlights aren't so bad either (even if I do have to occasionally "brighten" the effect). And my 5 foot 6 AND 1/2 isn't so bad, really. I won't be slam dunking any basketballs, but I'm tall enough to reach high shelves without a problem. Very practical, truth be told.

So I've got that. I've got me. And I like me. Even when I'm grungy. Even when I'm roughing it without make-up.

And that's a good thing, really. I'm me and I highly doubt I'll morph into some other thing any time soon. So being comfortable with it is a good place to be. And of course, true beauty is on the inside (and I never, ever have to put make-up on THAT or worry about the hair or clothes on my soul). 

I'm just little old, slightly grungy, maybe not as polished as others, Me.

It's a good thing.

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