It could be worse...

After yet another early morning wardrobe battle, I caved. I just didn't have the energy to spray the bed head from Cora's hair or even check to see if the tangles had been tackled. I didn't have enough fight in me to force Claire to change out of the too small, too neon, too see-through outfit she had chosen.  I threw my hands up and prayed everyone we ran into that day would be colorblind (because I felt it wasn't quite as demanding as requesting they all be actually blind).

Of course we ran into people I knew at every single stop we made. Old classmates from high school I hadn't seen in years, former co-workers from back in the day when my wardrobes choices were a bit broader than yoga pants: black, gray or blue. Even an ex-boyfriend I hadn't seen since my freshman year in college.

All while totting my homeless looking children.

I'm sure they were judging. You would have been too. 

But then I got home and happened upon a few photos from my past and suddenly felt better about the appearance of my children.

It can always be worse.

Exhibit A:

The most fantastic aspect of these outfits, as other pictures from the same time period prove, was their unisex nature. Interchangeable really. Judging by my sister's lovely haircut, the unisex theme was my mom's favorite in the 80s.

Exhibit B:

If I am ever bothered by my constant disheveled appearance in adulthood, I simply blame my mother's introduction to said appearance at a very young age. And yes, she did love my older sister more than me. Was it that obvious?

Exhibit C:

If the modeling career doesn't pan out, I hear the zoo is hiring zebra companions.

While I know it is inappropriate that these photos make me feel better about my inability to properly dress my children, um, they do. Plus, they just seriously make my day.