Like any house, especially any house with kids, our mornings are hectic. The other morning after the boys left, I threw on my dress and herded Mary Clare down the stairs, with the plans to finish getting ready after she had tucked into her hearty breakfast ... of Cheerios.
As we walked down the stairs, she gave me a little side eye and said something about my dress. It wasn't a snide comment, per se, but she was clearly eyeing me up. The rest went something like this.
Me: I’ve worn this before. It looks okay, right?
MC: Yes. But, where is the rest of your stuff?
Me: Well, as soon as I get your breakfast together, I am going to run back upstairs and put on my watch and some jewelry.
MC: And some lipstick. Don’t forget your lipstick.
Now, this girl hates lipstick. Hates it. She is loathe to use lip balm, even when her lips are horribly chapped, and she can't even stand to see me put anything on my lips. I often hear "ewww" when she sees me putting on lipstick, and there is absolutely no way she is letting me kiss her if I recently put on lip balm, much less lipstick.
So, yeah, I must have looked pale. Like really pale. Like cadaver pale.
Anyway, you better believe that when I came back down those stairs, I was wearing lipstick.