On Dressing Your Children for a Gala (Day 28, Year 3)

I started a very meaningful blog while at the Lemon Ball tonight; but I have to save that for tomorrow when I can do my meaningful missive justice. 

I cannot do it justice right now, because my son refuses to pick up his sister's bra and leggings that were left on the floor of his room when we were using his room as a makeshift dressing room earlier today. He is acting as if the cat pooped in his room (when the cat definitely pooped in someone else's room out of rage at us leaving), when in fact, there are simple PIECES OF FABRIC ON HIS FLOOR AND HE COULD JUST IGNORE THEM OR PICK THEM UP. 

Meanwhile, the rest of the second floor looks like there was a robbery and the robbers were searching for bobby pins (Doubt they found those!), contact lens solution (also, godspeed burglars!) and my sanity (good luck, butter cup!). There was not a robbery (unfortunately? fortunately? I don't know anymore what anything means), I just had to dress my children for a very fancy gala. 

You know the whole airline thing of placing your oxygen mask on first then assisting others? You know how this is used as a metaphor for self care and other imaginary wisdom? WELL YOU CANNOT PUT YOUR GALA DRESS ON BEFORE YOUR CHILDREN ARE READY. 

It's impossible. 

If you put it on before your children are ready you will just ended up sweating (while ironing your son's pants and steaming your daughter's gown), stained (while wrestling lipstick and eyeshadow on your daughter WHO REQUESTED YOU PUT LIPSTICK AND EYESHADOW ON HER), ripped (while yanking up the zipper of your daughter's gown while your daughter tells you that you NEED TO EXERCISE) and disheveled (as a result of ties, shoes, bobby pins, curling irons and handbags). 

So friends, when you are dressing your children for a gala, just stay in your pajamas. 

Then you will have exactly 17 minutes to get ready (and will spend 8 minutes of that time trying to zip up your own dress and 3 minutes popping your shoulder back into place). But don't worry! Your family will be in the car waiting patiently (by patiently, I mean having a fight) and they will be too distracted to even look at you. 

So, really, 17 minutes is exactly the time you need. 

Until, tomorrow, friends. Then I will be meaningful. For now, I am just one tired mother, who is still in her gown.