When Fashion Falters, Family Flourishes

A few weeks back I was getting ready for church. It was a good day. Both boys were fed, dressed, and quietly content—and, best of all, we were right on schedule. Feeling good about the morning, I decided that today was the day I would “feel human again”. With some time to spare, I carefully chose an outfit that didn’t scream “minivans and soccer games here I come”. I cast aside the comfort of my trusty yoga pants and slipped into fitted jeans—with a belt nonetheless. My shirt was clean, stylish, and bore no resemblance to the oversized, baby-stained hoodies that I normally adorn. I used a hair dryer to style my hair and threw on some makeup. And finally, I zipped up my piece de resistance: a pair of uber cute gray suede boots that – GASP! —had heels. Now this may not seem like a big deal to the average gal but one must understand that I had not worn heels since becoming pregnant with Ryan 11 months ago. One must also understand that I have a passion for shoes and it is one thing that I miss indulging in now that I am a full-time momma. (Let’s face it: It’s not very practical to be playing Ring Around the Rosie in leopard print pumps.)

So that Sunday was a good Sunday. Feeling good after the service—inside and out—I started strutting my sassy, sueded self across the parking lot, back to our car, baby in his carrier, and Caiden by my side. Then. All. Hell. Broke. Loose. As I went to unlock my car, Caiden decided that it would be a great idea to let go of my hand and start walking into a field abutting the lot. Not a big deal if he just listened to his mother and obey her when she said, “Ok Buddy, that’s far enough. Come back and get buckled in.” No. My kid slyly peeked over his shoulder, looked over at a nearby playground (at the other end of the field) and BOLTED. IN a moment of sheer panic, I looked down at the infant in his carrier on my arm, then at the back of my sprinting toddler who could rival Flo Jo, back at my baby in the carrier and thought, “Holy s#!t! What do I do?!?!” Luckily, my friends were at their car right next to us, so I plunked Ryan’s carrier down beside the car and said, “Please watch him while I go catch his brother.” (What I was thinking, however, was “Please watch him while I go kill his brother.” But we were on hallowed grounds.)

(This is not an uncommon pose for Caiden nowadays. It's sorta the "try to get me" tease. He is ALWAYS on the run...)

Have you ever tried to run across a muddy field in 4” heels? This mad dash that felt like an eternity was punctuated by thoughts laden with curse words. Some were directed at my son who’s “joy run” (which ended up past the field and playground and into the neighboring woods) could have put him in physical harm, while the other thoughts damned myself for trying to be a hot momma that day. How dare I try to look good? As I wrangled my child and carried him back to the car, I began to wonder: Will I have to live the rest of my life in sneakers?

You know what? Currently, the answer to that question is “Yes.” And although my initial reaction is to cringe (Oh, how I love my red patent leather stilettos!), forfeiting the glamour and trendiness of it all is a small price to pay in exchange for moments no fashion designer could replicate. Manolo Blahnik can not melt me dawn after dawn with a sleepy voice saying “Gooooooood morrrrrrrrnnnnnin’, Momma”. Steve Madden can not craft the overwhelming joy that floods my entire being each and every time I see my 2-month-old smile in reaction to the mere sight of me. Christian Louboutin has nothing on the snuggles and story times, the kisses and coos, the love and laughter shared by my family and I. So if that means that I must trade in my stylish sandals for a pair of practical Nikes, so be it. My focus has now shifted from the latest pair of Jimmy Choo’s to Thomas the "Choo Choo" and instead of sporting peep toes, I play peek-a-boo. But I would rather be a mess of mommy that a fashionista lacking family. My children are, in essence, the best accessories that I have ever had—always drawing attention and compliments from others, making me feel good about myself, completing my “look” or the life, rather, that I set out to lead. So forget the chunky wedges and the adorable boots. Sneakers, like family, provide stability and comfort. Besides, my youngest’s initials are RPM. I think that it’s safe to say that I have many more years of running ahead of me…

(“Gooooooood morrrrrrrrnnnnnin’, Momma!”)

(You can't outdo this, Steve Madden!)