So I went out last night. Cue the sounds of angels singing and visions of the heavens parting, because this is truly a miracle. While dinner with friends was once a synonym for “Friday night,” with each little munchkin’ that we’ve been blessed with, “Girls Night Out” has become more and more a legend…a whisper between moms of a distant memory, so far removed from our lives that we wonder if it ever really was. So on those obscure occasions when all the stars align (What? All 3 of my germ magnets are snot-free simultaneously?), and I do actually have an opportunity to get “dressed up” (Translation: Search the laundry basket for something clean, other than my pajamas), I shouldn’t be surprised to hear the audible gasps of amazement at my very basic transformation (“You look INCREDIBLE Honey!” “WOW Mommy!”) And while I want to be able to interpret this as authentic admiration, I can’t help but look in the mirror at what my family is so impressed with, and think to myself, “How bad was my “before” picture, that is considered a successful “after”?”

Now, let me back up to a single moment that acted as a metaphor for the entire preparation process, which led to this empty amazement. I was trying to put on makeup while responding to emails, while directing the evening showing of the Vokoun family circus, when Wesley and Mia both decided they desperately needed all of my attention at that very moment. So, while lovingly batting their hands away from the keyboard, and swiftly karate chopping the mascara from their tiny grasps, Wesley wisely made a play and went for the jugular, seizing the jewels from around my neck. Now, you should know that this is my one, single, multipurpose necklace that I have convinced myself can transform my “nice jeans” (no holes) into a dressy look, a basic t-shirt into work attire, and somehow magically camouflage even the saddest of ensembles. And while I am aware that this is likely only a placebo effect, and my little black beads were more my security blanket, than they were even a slight step in the direction towards fashion, right then, as if in slow motion, I saw my fictional disguise shatter and scatter across the floor. And yes, I cried out, “WHY?” I am not just dramatic by pen. It is a 24/7 calling of mine.

Fortunately, I have a loving husband (or maybe just a terrified one) who knew I needed this night (or else the whole family might suffer). So he used his skillful powers of deception to convince me I was not at all funny (See Day 10) and that nobody would even notice the stain where Wesley spilled his yogurt on my leg. And I was almost convinced….but then came the issue of shoes. I never really understood the extent of my wardrobe’s demise until I tried to find some shoes with an objective other than protecting my feet from stray Legos or unknown spills on the ground. Being a work-from-home, my need for fashion is limited to…well, in order to have limitations you would need to have something to limit. So, in a way, my fashion is limitless. So in these rare moments when I am reminded that shoes can actually be used as accessories, I am terrified by my options. The dirty brown flip-flops or the filthy black ones? Oooo! What about the sparkly flip-flops? Could I pretend those are classy? Even I have to say no to that one. So I dig through my closet to try to find something resembling appropriateness. But the closest thing I can find are those sad, sad pair of club heels from long before littles that are only appropriate for the trash. I am both ashamed by this pair of time capsules, in that there was a time I thought I looked cool in these, and saddened to know that their funeral is long, long overdue. Ultimately, I finally settle on my inconspicuous Payless work shoes, hoping nobody will notice me (Oh, how times have changed).

So, after I adjust to the foreign darkness (I am like a reverse Vampire, having not been exposed to life after 7PM for centuries), I hop in my ride (’06 Sienna Minivan baby, complete with the family sticker, a row of car seats in the back) and I think to myself, “When did this happen?” Fortunately, before I can grow too melancholy, I reach my hand in my purse for the illusive lipstick I know I once wore long ago, only to find an old applesauce pouch instead. Lovely! But before I continue down that road, I must step away from my theme of misfortune to share a miraculous epiphany…we exist outside of mommyhood! And I cannot tell you how surprising and refreshing this discovery was for me. Thank you Lisa Flumerfelt, Krista King-Galvez, and my other “Real Housewives of Da Vinci” (Krista’s copyrights pending) for excusing my paint-less toes, choosing a dim restaurant to disguise my Payless flats, and reminding me that while our lives are often dark comedies, none of us would have it any other way. We may be crazy, but we’re not alone in our insanity!