I just needed a “down” day. A day where my car was in the shop and I knew I couldn’t go anywhere.
Where I intentionally let the laundry pile up over the weekend so I would have something I could do from start-to-finish today. Where I set myself up to feel like I had successfully completed something important and something that was visually obvious to everyone else.
Where I was trapped in my own kitchen and had no other choice but to empty and clean out the cupboards. Where dinner would have to be conceived using only ingredients or anything else I found “interesting” in said cupboard cleanout.
Where I could wear the sweatpants that show a pantyline and some cottage cheese thigh action and not have to worry about it because no one other than family would see me today.
Where my face would be makeupless and my unwashed frizzle confined by a ponytail holder. A yellow ponytail holder, despite none of my other “outfit” elements containing the mustardy color today.
Where I could wallow through the morbid details of composing a new will to include all four of our children–an absolutely dismal thing to have to think about and do–but made a tiny bit better sitting on pillows with my back soaking in the sunbeam shining through my slider door. The only pants I could sit on the floor and do this with are, in fact, my sweatpants.
And despite wishing it were an awesome hair day, where I was rocking my stud jeans, tooting around town to meet friends or run errands, headed to my kids’ school or even grocery shopping, the sweatpants days are important too.