February 10, 2012

Frump Olympics


On the 100th day of school, I got to dress Andrew as a 100-year-old man.  I decorated him with a button-up shirt, glasses, a fedora, some suspenders, baggy pants, and a cane.  I used concealer to blot out the color of his lips and an old eyeliner pencil to add a few wrinkles.  He was done--just in time to head off to the bus.

I was already sweating from the exertion of aging him 93 years in 10 minutes when I realized it wasn't time to rest.  There was a problem: the 100 things he was supposed to bring to school--100 packages of fruit snacks--were left sitting on the table.

It was up to me to race the heavy box of fruit snacks to the bus stop.

There was no time to change out of my bathrobe and glasses nor to fix my messy hair. I could almost hear the Olympic anthem and my moment of frumpy Olympic glory had arrived.  As the anthem played in my head, I shot put the baby to the couch, hefted the 5 pound box, and ran toward the door.  I shoved my feet into my husband's running shoes and then flew outside where I was faced with my first obstacle: a dam of ice.  I delicately clumped my way across it in Rex's large, unlaced tennis shoes.  

When I hit the road I set out at a sprint, heaving the box as I ran, stray strands of hair sticking out everywhere and blue bathrobe of wonder billowing out behind me.

The bus pulled up in the middle of my frumpy athletic event.  Then the bus started around the corner so that the length of bus windows was facing me.  I kept puffing along until I reached my finish line--much to the delight of an entire busload of silent, gawking, appreciative fans.  Their eyes were filled with wonder and their mouths were open in disbelief.

Then, just like a runner passes a baton, I passed the heavy box to my shocked son, and let him take the next lap--onto the bus.

I don't want to take all the glory for this personal victory.  I see it as a triumph for all frumpy mothers everywhere.  We are frumpy, we are strong, we can endure public humiliation with dignity!

And then we can blog about it with grace.

9 comments:

  1. Bwahah! This makes me glad our bus stop is too far from the house for any last minute saves.
    Very nice descriptions, I feel like an eye witness.
    Actually, I feel like I'm part of the "we" you refer to. I mean, I know I am.

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  2. Fantastic. This is so timely. I've been outside 10 times this morning in my glasses, unbrushed hair and PJs. We live right next to the city park.

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  3. Oh how I love picturing you shot putting Eliza and running down the streetwith your wonder robe billowing behind you. I happened to know andrew is proud of the frumpness. (nerdy? Oh! my mom is nerdy!) I want to see that 100 year old andrew. Jens, you are such a good writer. Loved it. Keep em coming

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  4. Oh how I love picturing you shot putting Eliza and running down the streetwith your wonder robe billowing behind you. I happened to know andrew is proud of the frumpness. (nerdy? Oh! my mom is nerdy!) I want to see that 100 year old andrew. Jens, you are such a good writer. Loved it. Keep em coming

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  5. Your kid is never going to forget that moment. Ever.

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  6. You are so cool Jenny. Enough said.

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  7. Oh, I've been there! It REALLY is appreciated most in 2nd grade...I made the unforgivable mistake of honking when I arrived to pick up Caden because I thought he didn't see me. I found out later that this move on my part was beyond mortifying for him. Wow! I'm just trying to do my "Mom job".

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  8. Before reading Missy's comment, I was going to say: too bad Andrew's too young to really appreciate this. But, maybe it's just my kids. They'd be only too happy to go to school in a bathrobe, too big shoes, and messed up hair. I can only assume they'd like me to wear those things too.

    Also, maybe I shouldn't say this on the internet, but --- since about kid three, I just started sleeping in my clothes to save time. Embarrassing yes, but I'm never caught out in my robe. Which is worse?

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