To me, one of the best parts about being a stay-at-home-mom is the way in which I can pretty much look however I want without worrying about frightening someone. Staying in my pj's until ten or eleven is a norm for me. I mean, does a three year old really care that my pants are orange and my top is purple? Or that I just plucked my eyebrows?
The usual answer is no.
Since Mr. Personality is still sick, I knew I was going nowhere today, and thus gave a rat's ass about what I looked like. After taking my shower, gratefully choosing to not shave my legs, I couldn't decide on the level of hair attention. Should I put no product in at all? The cheaper product, since a public appearance was highly doubtful and why waste the good stuff?
I opted for the cheaper product, and for some unknown reason, well, mostly laziness, just combed it through with my fingers and not a brush. I wasn't exactly in a big rush, so I figured I would just let it air dry the normal way and then brush it later.
A couple of hours went by, and I turned to look at Mr. P, chilling on the couch watching Caillou, since I am having to force inactivity lest he cough up a lung. I said something to him, I don't remember what exactly.
He cocked his head and looked at me.
Then he stated, "Mama, you need to brush your hair."
Fine. Point taken my boy, point taken.