Sight for Sore Eyes

I'd be willing to bet that the word "disheveled" was definitely invented by a young mom. Only a young mom could come up with a word that so perfectly describes the way I look and feel most mornings. Actually, the word "haggard" works too.

This morning is no exception. I am hardly the diva at dawn. To write this, I'm typing with one hand and with the other pushing back a mop of nearly dreadlocked hair swirling around my head like a cotton candy machine. I have an inch thick line of black mascara smeared in football fashion under my eyes, and my eyeglasses are teetering on my nose at a forty-five degree angle. It's amazing my husband can stomach a goodbye kiss this morning. I know I couldn't.

Actually, the eyeglass mishap could have been prevented. As I fell asleep reading last night, I took them off by dropping them over the side of the bed. And truth be known, anything on the floor is fair game in our house. So as Baby Dude came bounding into my room first thing this morning, his destruction detector honed right in on those perfectly intact frames. I wince at the thought of BD's chubby, sticky fingers crushing its bridge and twisting each temple. Knowing my glasses the way I do, I'm sure they were cowering in his sight, screaming at decibals too high for human ears, begging for mercy. But sadly, no rescue ever came. Hours later, I found my glasses rammed between the tv and the entertainment unit, a bruised, beaten, and humiliated shell of a frame. I tried everything to revive its original shape, but there is no question now that a trip to Costco's optometry office is in order. As for the restored dignity of my glasses, well, let's just say we're still not on speaking terms.

As for my morning slovenliness (another, possibly even better word to describe my condition in the wee hours), it stands in stark contrast to the regality of Lil' Miss. While I stumble around in the kitchen playing the part of mummy from the crypt, she is all aglow, gliding through each room in a glittery pink princess gown and white flowy wedding veil that is trailing down her back. How she finds the will and where-with-all to put herself together like that each morning is beyond me. Maybe it's because these princess ensembles are not just costumes to her but the expression of her true nature. She is not just a simile of a princess, she is the whole stinkin' metaphor. Well, maybe its high time that I claim my own royal metaphor! You know, I could use a little glitter and silk myself every once in a while. And as the queen of this castle, I deserve it! So, um...does this mean I get to go shopping?