So, it's 7:30 a.m. and we all need to change. Give that a good 30 minutes. Adrienne wants to dress herself, of course. Now if anyone is reading this, if anyone is out there, and you have, have had, or know someone who has a three year old girl, getting dressed is a fiasco! If I know we won't be leaving the house for over two hours, go for it girl. Find every pink, floofy, fluffy, skirt, flowery, necklace, pink thing you can find and put it on. And your Hello Kitty socks. They are sitting at the foot of my bed with blackened bottoms and sandy innards. Gotta have those.
Julian, a little less maintenance. Shirt from drawer, over head, arms through. Pants on.
Izzy is like a revolving door when it comes to clothes. Clean on, dirty off, clean on, dirty off, dirty on when I get too tired.
As for me, I throw on the one pair of jeans that somewhat fit and hope they don't have visible puke or jelly on them and whatever shirt is in view in my room. On the bed, floor, closet, doesn't matter. Seeing a burnt toast, mom's last kind of theme festering? Me too.
Okay, we're dressed. For the first time, at least.
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