Human Leg Warmers and Other Observations from Mommyhood

I'm sure most of you remember leg warmers, right? They were those fabulous fashion accessories from the 80's made popular by break dancers and the Material Girl. I remember having them in practically every color and sporting them most everywhere I went. I wore pale pink ones to ballet class, blue-and-white-argyle ones to school (over my acid-washed jeans, I might add), and red-and-white-striped ones with my roller skates. Additionally, I had a myriad of neutrals that I wore with everything else. I loved them. They were the epitome of cool, stylishness, and sexiness.

Weren't they?

Well, hind-sight is 20/20. At the time I thought they were "rad," but then I also thought penny-rolled jeans tucked into four pairs of scrunched socks, stuffed into LA Gear high tops were cool. I still wear leg warmers, but now mine are of a slightly different variety.


I wouldn't call my new leg warmers cool; instead they more or less drool. (I can't believe I just typed that terrible pun). And they're not so much sexy and stylish, as needy and childish. However, I love my new leg warmers more than all the trendy, neon-colored apparel I owned during the 80's. (And believe me, that's a lot). Yes, friends, my new leg warmers might not keep my legs warm so much as they cause me to trip over my own feet, and they might not win me any fashion awards, so much as they make me lose my sanity from time to time. But, there is nothing else as wonderful (or as difficult) as trying to make dinner with living, breathing leg warmers welded to your calves, looking up expectantly and with so much love in their big eyes as you chop vegetables with six-inch Santoku knives, pull steaming casseroles out of 400 degree ovens, and transfer boiling pots from stove top to sink. It's definitely a challenge, but the frustration I sometimes feel melts as soon as I look down into my little one's sweet, smiling face.

The intermittent high-pitched squeals, giggles and cries are just an added benefit of my changing fashion sense.

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Along those same lines, have you ever tried to clean out cabinets, closets or drawers with an infant, a toddler, a preschooler, or any combination thereof nearby? I am attempting to get ready for a garage sale, which at this point will be held sometime between next month and next year. You know how it is. When the kids are asleep is the only time I can clean out their closets and toy boxes, but how do I clean out their closets and toy boxes without waking them? It's a vicious cycle and I'm open to suggestions.

Aside from the nurseries and my struggles to cull their old things, I have been culling a few of my own old things. I just bought a new set of "everyday dishes," as I call them. I am so happy to be getting rid of my old out-dated dishes, and I eagerly anticipated packing them up for the garage sale. Thinking I would do this while Isabella was at preschool, I began the task of washing my new dishes and wrapping up my old ones. Can you guess who wanted to help?

She unpacked and I repacked. She unpacked and I repacked. She unpacked and I repacked. And on and on. Finally, I grabbed the packing tape, closed the box and sat on top of it while I taped it shut. At this rate, I'll be having the garage sale sometime after my youngest one goes to college. I hope she doesn't mind having breast pump accessories and a Bumbo chair in her closet until then.

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And by the way, how many of these things does one household need?

This picture does not even count the one Sophia is currently drinking from, the one Isabella has at preschool with her, the one left in Sophia's room from last night, or the countless cups under the front passenger seat in my car. They are spilling out of my cabinets and filling up my dishwasher like a big, pink, plastic tidal wave. I especially love it when I find one that has had milk in for a week hiding under the crib, or even better, in Isabella's refrigerator. She tells me that she puts them in her little refrigerator because mommy puts them in the big refrigerator. Oh, well. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.