Dressed for Work

I had a bit of an epiphany this morning, after another night of oft-interrupted sleep due to a sick toddler, a baby simultaneously squeezing out my bladder and my stomach, and the Nyquil-and-congestion-induced snoring of my husband. After taking care of the essentials of my morning hygiene, I was debating contacts/glasses and eyeliner/just a lazy dash of boring brown shadow. I knew I wouldn't be taking the kids anywhere today, and even the odds of seeing my husband for more than five minutes before he hits the bed with another dose of cold meds were slimmer than a model at Paris Fashion Week. And if I wore glasses, I wouldn't feel bad about wasting a pair of disposable contacts if the stars should align for me to take a nap.

Then out of nowhere I realized that, for me, choosing to forgo the mascara and contacts means that I'm not really getting dressed for "work". I've given up on the day before the red tail-lights of my neighbor's Subaru light up my bathroom and warn me that "Arnold the Owl" will be releasing my eldest from her bedroom in the very near future. Not that I don't expect it can be a good day -- just that I am giving myself a pass on giving my all to my work. That wouldn't be okay if I had a boss to report to, and it is even worse when it is my family counting on me. 

So my new policy is that unless I am too sick to get out of bed, I'm putting on that full "face" and ramping up my ambition to go for the contacts. Now if only I can come up with a justifiable reason to need that sleek and chic blue dress from Shabby Apple in order to be "dressed for work"...