Parenting Without A License

Life in Flannel

Posted by Kimberly on January 24th, 2008 — Posted in Kipple

I’m not ignoring you on purpose; there’s just not a lot to say when you can’t remember the last time you changed out of your jammies.  Not that I’ve been a total shut in this past little while.  I just haven’t quite managed to get out of the cosy, I’d rather be in my pjs mindset even when I do go out.

The weather is not helping in this regard.  Were it warmer out, I might feel obligated to change out of the baggy flannel pants and tee shirts I’ve found myself living in into something slightly more structured when running errands or going out with The Ladies.  As it is, snowpants and a jaunty touque will cover a multitude of sins.

Mostly, I’m ok with this state of affairs. I’m comfortable in my skin–especially when it’s snuggled in soft cotton rather than encased in denim–and if the layers of snow gear give me a somewhat “Stay Puffed” air, well, it’s not like I really care about who’s noticing me anyway.

Except, sometimes I do.

Like the woman at the grocery store the other night.  I first noticed her in the bread aisle, standing there in her pea coat and boots, browsing the various freshly baked loaves. My children were loudly demanding Wonder Bread and nothing else.

Then she sauntered by in the pasta aisle, where the Zen Baby was having an Exorcist style tantrum on the floor and Diva Girl was whining about the injustice of being denied…something.  I don’t know.  I’d stopped paying attention at that point, mesmerized by the fantastic, squiggly silver broach pinned to the front of the woman’s coat.

At the dairy case, where she seemed to be debating the merits of various types of brie and I was debating the merits of brand name vs generic cheese strings, I was struck by the aura of calm that surrounded her.  She wasn’t frazzled, just trying to get through this experience as quickly as possible; she was making shopping look downright leisurely.  I don’t remember the last time grocery shopping was a leisurely experience that simply involved a basket and a vague idea of what I felt like making for dinner. Possibly never.  Clearly, my life and this woman’s–who looked to be about my age–had taken widely divergent paths.

I found myself thinking about that as all hell broke loose in the checkline–The Ladies vehemently disputing each other’s right to push the button that moves the conveyor belt and “calling” the groceries they planned to put in the cart degenerating into open warfare–and I looked up to see her behind me, a look of combined  horror and relief on her perfectly made up face.  The thing was, I could completely understand where she was coming from.  I mean, if I’d had the choice, I wouldn’t have been the harried looking woman in the touque and the snowpants, trying to corral two clearly out of control children and load my cart up with a bunch of cheese strings, minigos, and canned pasta either; I would have much rather been the stylishly put together woman who was totally pulling off that beret.

Then again, I did have the choice once upon a time.  I may have sort of stumbled into motherhood, and I may sometimes wonder about the life I could have had, had I not been tethered by these responsibilities that sometimes weigh me down, but also buoy me up at unexpected moments, but when it comes right down to it, I don’t have many regrets that I’m the one with the cart full of kidfood and she’s the one with the small basket filled with strictly adult delicacies.  Not even when I’m fantasizing about leaving my squabbling Ladies behind as I leave the store.
Besides,  I bet my jammie pants are way more comfy than that skirt she was wearing.  And I could totally pull off a beret if I wanted to.  I just like my touque.