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That Time I Wore White {Oh Wait, I’m a Mom}

Last month I got to go shopping out of town for the day. Without kids. So I wore white. 
Last week I went to the grocery store for an hour. Without kids. So I wore white

Then I came home and changed. Into something not white. 

I’ve got a lot of clothes, more than I can reasonably wear on a regular basis. But I don’t wear them all, especially ones I like because I spend most my days at home with oatmeal-stained cheeks and banana-fingers ambushing me from all angles.  Tell me I’m not alone moms.  You gotta be like me and have ‘home-clothes’ and ‘nice-clothes’ and never the two shall meet. Now I get why moms used to wear aprons. Does a hoodie pass as a modern version of an apron?

So today I took the kids into town. Since I didn’t shower I thought I’d step it up a little, so I wore some ‘nice clothes’ I wore white. Anytime I had to touch the kids I held them out away from my body with locked elbows. The way I’ve held the ‘surprises’ my son brings me lately (I’ll give you a hint, it’s poop). 

Victory, no stains! Then I came home and changed. Into something not white.  Cause I kinda like holding them, and having them invade my personal space. Stains come with the territory.  

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