The Frumpy Mommy Tale Continues

shoes

An interesting thing happened today. I decided to go through my closet, and tackled my shoes first. To fully appreciate this story, you need to know a few things.

1. I used to be a shoe-freak. I had enough shoes at one point to wear a different pair every day for two months. Not just ordinary shoes, I had a knack for finding unique styles, and usually for a great bargain.

2. Not always a bargain, though. I think the most I ever spent was a hundred dollars. Not Jimmy Choos, but pretty expensive in my budget.

3. On the other hand, I once bought designer shoes for $2. I had a coupon.

4. When I went on my honeymoon, I had a separate suitcase just for…..you got it. Shoes.

So, you’re getting the picture. I guess I should tell you now that in the last few years, my shoe collection has dwindled. I am not able to replace ones that are falling apart and it’s been over a year since I bought anything but sneakers.

Even though I loved shoes before I started getting on the frumpy side, I loved them even more when I could no longer fit into a size two dress. Shoes always fit! Even so, one dreary, gray day, I called my mom.

“Went shoe shopping. Not happy.”

“Why?”

“Well, because, none of them made me look skinny!”

It’s the truth. My love affair with shoes didn’t exactly end that day, but we began to drift apart. My body seemed even larger when towering on skinny stiletto heels. And, staying home with my kiddos, I didn’t have much need for the latest style anyway. Right now, I couldn’t even tell you what the latest style is.

So, back to today. I threw out every ripped, fraying, impractical, and smelly shoe I owned and only kept the ones I actually wear. So what was so interesting?

I now have more slippers than shoes.

Is this normal?

 

Related Post:

Confessions of a Frumpy Mommy

Confessions of a Frumpy Mommy

Frumpy Mommy Syndrome

 

After watching an especially enlightening episode of What Not to Wear one day, I discovered that I have lost my identity.  I am a frumpy mommy and yes, I have worn my workout clothes grocery shopping.  Even worse, my favorite word when describing clothing is comfy

 

It’s not that I have given up completely.  On my bathroom counter I have a tiny tub of cream called Hope in a Jar.  My shower holds a Five Minute Miracle for my hair.  In my cupboard you’d find firming lotion I had hoped would work better than the stair climber at the gym.  It didn’t.  Neither did the self-tanning lotion that promised to have a slimming effect.  It in fact had a streaking effect and an odd smell.  You can see that in my own little way, I still try. 

 

The funny thing is that I don’t mind so much.  I am pleased to have lost the part of my identity that found value in how I was dressed or what I looked like.  I am thankful that I don’t have an hour every morning to spend on my face.  More shockingly, I like being known as Coco’s mom or Soleil’s mommy. 

 

Even so, I long sometimes for the days when I dressed up every day for work and lived in high heels.  Eric would smile when I walked in the door and could hardly resist wrapping his arms around me any time we were near each other.

 

Not that those days are completely gone.  Just yesterday as I passed Eric the trash to take out, our hands touched. “Wow,” he said, “it’s nice to see you…dressed.”  Ah, the romance of it all.

 

While I may have once pitied women like me, I now appreciate them because I understand that this mommy look is carefully constructed.  Gym shoes aren’t a sign of laziness, they are a necessity. Who can chase after a two year old in the park while wearing stilettos?  And though baby doll dresses may be back in fashion, I for one am too afraid of being asked when the baby is due to even try one on.  As for low rise jeans, I see no reason to have my backside exposed when I am bending over picking up toys all day.  I don’t think the kids would thank me, either. 

 

When I get to feeling sorry for my frumpy self, I remember that this comfort-look is only for a season.  Like the months when I wore tops of whatever color food my baby was trying that day, these days will soon be but a memory. 

 

 

 

Until then, I still have Hope.  It’s in a pretty little jar.

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