Because I’m an Effen Mess, That’s Why

Lately, I burst into tears for no good reason. While I’m fairly confident that it has something to do with the state of world politics, the economy and my children’s ridiculous insistence on growing up, it's still embarrassing as hell so; I’m taking steps to improve my outlook and to keep the waterworks down to a trickle rather than a flood the likes of which the world has not seen since, well...Noah.

Over the past couple of weeks, however, commercials for Easter dresses have been my downfall. Seeing the cute little Gap kids in their Easter finery, hunting for pastel eggs while fluffy bunnies romp at their feet has proven almost too much for my obviously-addled brain to process and; I admit to openly bemoaning the fact that I no longer have a tiny toddler princess to dress in a frilly new dress with matching sweater, ruffled-butted tights, precious Easter bonnet and little white gloves.

In an unprecedented act of mercy (or, in an effort to get me to shut the hell up, already), The Teenager has volunteered to let me dress her up this year. This is a huge concession for a child who has not voluntarily worn a dress since, um, I cannot even remember when. The only caveat to the deal was that we had to find a green dress and that I had to agree to let her wear her sneakers with it which, were two concessions I was more than willing to make although the prospect of finding a green dress that we could both agree on seemed a daunting task to say the least.

We actually found the perfect dress on Saturday when, following the Man-Cub’s final wrestling tournament of the season (2nd place, yay! And, no more wrestling, double yay!), we visited the local JC Penney’s. In a welcome turn of events, the dresses were all half-price which was a good thing considering the fact that we also had to shop for a new bra for the Teenager, a bra that would convert to accommodate the halter-top nature of the new dress.

Since we hadn’t been bra shopping in some time, neither of us was certain as to which size the Teenager needed. The Teenager wasn’t interested in taking the time to try bras on so, I was forced to improvise, holding each bra up to her chest and eyeballing the fit. This was about the time that the child’s patience with me and my obviously hormone-driven mood swings ran out and I can’t really blame her; no one likes getting felt up by their mother in the bra department of the JC Penney.

So, we cut our losses, grabbed the bra voted Most Likely to Fit and hightailed it outta there.

The Teenager tried on her new outfit for her father once we got home and, I’m pretty sure I saw a tear in his eye although, he claimed it was dust.

Now, why didn’t I think of that? I’m not an emotional wreck; I’ve got dust in my eyes.

Brilliant.