Spring is here, the sun is peeking out, the weather is a little warmer today and I am crazy sneezing. Every year it is the same thing, can’t breathe, eyes watering and lots of sneezing. Oh hello allergies, I certaintly did not miss you. But I do love spring. The flowers, the green grass, Easter, spring dresses and the possibility of warmer days. Oh plus crazy me loves spring cleaning and spending weekends with my windows wide open letting in fresh air.
But sadly spring is not what this blog posting is about.
As I was drifting off to sleep last night, I was thinking thoughts about love and laziness. How do those two subjects connect? Well in my mind they connected through self maintenance. Okay, stop giving me that puzzled sideways look, let me explain my whacky thought process here.
I was reminded by a friend the other day of my 19th birthday. That was the year I dressed up in a halter top (in freezing weather), blue eyeshadow/mascara and a tiara with my hair curled. This brought up other memories of outfit’s I wore, make-up I tried and hair styles I attempted through out my teens and twenties. Besides wondering, “What the hell was I thinking?” I also started wondering, what made me try so hard back then?
Was it me trying to find myself through style? Was it me trying to impress my friends? Was I just following the crowd?
I was constantly changing my hair back then, I put red streaks through my blond curls, black streaks, dyed the whole mess red, dyed the whole mess brown and weird auburn colors that I had to wait to grow out because they refused to budge. I use to spend hours shopping at Wal-Mart, looking for shoes, purses, jeans, sweatshirts that would fit and look cute. I spent hundreds on make-up, sometimes in crazy colors like blue or purple. I spent a lot of time each morning primping and prepping. I shaved my legs regularly, even my armpits, I once attempted to shave my arms (I was 8 and wanted to shave, never did it again), I would curl, swipe, smear and scrutinize. My outfit’s were picked out with care, wardrobe changes for day wear compared to evening wear were a must. I was bold. I was adventurous. I cared. Greatly about how other people perceived me.
Then I met my now husband. I got married two years later and now we find ourselves two weeks away from our five year wedding anniversary and almost to our eight year regular anniversary. I was slimmer, younger, still concerned with my appearance when he met me eight years ago. Bad and good, he accepted me. He thought I was beautiful. He still does. Slowly my weight went up (due to a health condition as well that got worse as I got older), slowly I stopped spending a lot on clothes or make-up, sometimes I even left the house without make-up on and my leg hair got long.
Now a days, I spent a little more on clothes, make-up and I shave, well at least attempt to twice a month (don’t give me that look). I am so tired in the mornings, most days I take a shower, throw on mascara and eyeliner, call it good, maybe swipe some cover up on, throw together whatever outfit is appropriate for work, slide on flats and run out of the house with my hair still wet. I walk past my earrings, necklaces, cute heels, closet full of clothes and hair products. Most of my slacks are too long and seriously need hemming, but I throw them on anyways. Some are missing buttons. Some don’t fit right.
Once home I live in my sweats. I love my sweats. Even if I look ridiculous in Eeyore PJ’s.
Most of the friends I grew up with were my opposite. They hated make-up and wore whatever was comfortable. To them, I was amazingly girly, still am to this day. My best friend since third grade had me do her make-up and hair for her wedding because she was literally clueless on both. I read Cosmopolitan. I love fashion. I envy women in their high heels and very put together outfit’s.
It isn’t that I don’t care. Part of me obviously does. But where is she buried? The girl that took taking care of herself very serious and put everyone else on the back burner. That girl seems to have been replaced with a wife, who worries about bills, animals, a husband, keeping a clean house, being a student, a career, college and about fifteen other more important details.
Am I using being married as an excuse to not take care of me? I can’t even begin to count how many times I have said “I am married, who am I trying to impress,” when I get dressed in the mornings.
OMGOSH has love made me lazy?
I read an article the other day that said married couples tend to carry around more extra weight than single people. It seems to be related to time and the need to look good out in the dating world. Once you have caught your spouse, why would you need to work so hard?
Why should being married or not dictate how I feel when I leave the house? Hmmm, interesting indeed. Something to contemplate some more. But I can tell you one thing, I am removing it from my pile of excuses, I already have enough.
What are your thoughts?