Are You a Momshell?

So...I found myself with a spare few minutes this morning between my usual Tuesday hithering and yonning. Minutes I could waste Fantastic!

Little Tom and his gooey nose (it's pollen time, folks), sat snuggled on the couch with his uber-loud alphabet-phonics-repetitive-annoying toy; I grabbed another cup of tea and the newspaper, reminding myself not to grind my teeth too much at the latest financial headlines.

I needn't have worried; as I turned the page into the much abbreviated Life section of the Enquirer, I saw this main story headline:

What's a Momshell?

{Read the full story at here.}

Were my teeth grinding?

No, but my eyes were rolling.

Last week, I had a random thought as the weather changed and I searched my meager wardrobe for capris and a t-shirt that wasn't either:

a) fraught with frayed threads or hems;

b) bearing tiny bleach stains from my lack of attention when doing laundry; or,

c) too young for my fine sophisticated thirty-five year old self.

How much easier would getting ready be, I mused, if we all wore those Dharma Initiative jumpsuits.

I won't lie to you, mommyfolk; I like to look good.

I like to have my hair and makeup look like I spent more than ninety seconds in my bathroom and another fifteen seconds in the vanity mirror of my van doing the basics.

I like to wear nice clothes that fit my rockin' frame the way they should.

I like pretty shoes that have no purpose other than to make my feet look so adorable they could be cake toppers.

I like to look like...well, a girl.

But herein lies the problem: I'm not a girl any longer.

I'm a mom.

This means I spend six-and-a-half out of seven days engaged in any one of the following tasks:

:: Full-on assisting toddler potty time

:: Cleaning bathrooms after toddler attempts to fly solo on potty time

:: Wrangling canines

:: Cleaning up dog poop from the backyard (better there than from the shoes)

:: Cooking, cooking, cooking for hungry people

:: Cleaning up after all that cooking

:: Loading the dishwasher, the washer, the dryer

:: Occasionally remembering to lug out the vacuum, the mop, or the Swiffer vac

:: Racing from one task to the next as I try to beat the clock

I'm all for putting ourselves on the "To-Do" list, as one of the moms at Hot Moms Club - a site devoted to Momshells and those that strive, aspire, wish, self-destructively obsess, whatever-verb-you-wanna-use-here, to be Momshells themselves - states at the end of the article in Tuesday's Enquirer.

We moms should feel good about ourselves, yes. Agreed and agreed. The effect that a shower and blown-dry hair can have on us at all stages of this crazy mothering gig is nothing short of utter rejuvenation.

But I can't help but wonder what our daughters, those girls we moms are all trying to raise to be strong women, women who seek to discover what they can contribute to the world to make it a better place rather than what flavor of eye candy they want to be today, might take away from all of this yummymummy brouhaha.

That looks win?

That you should try to be perfect in appearance no matter what the cost?

That a woman's true power lies in her beauty?

I don't have too much more time to noodle over this one tonight; I've got lunches to pack and backpacks to check. The insane canine posse needs to go out one more time, necessitating an eight paw mud removal plan. And there are three loads of laundry that I'm trying my best to ignore in the hopes that they won't multiply like bunnies overnight.

Until the d*#m maid shows up, it's up to me to keep this joint running.

Hold my membership card for the Momshell club; I don't think I can pay the dues.

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