When the boys were born I bought the mom-mobile. So it should come as no surprise to you Iâ€™ve also adopted the mom uniform. (Pay no attention to the woman behind the curtain pretending to be a grownup.)
The boys have noticed it too. If I appear in a dress or skirt, they ask if Iâ€™m a princess. (Aww, I feel the loveâ€¦) Then they demand I â€œgo put on home clothes.â€ (Less warm fuzziesâ€¦)
The Mommy costume: disheveled hair, casual shirt (or sweatshirt) and yoga pants.
You know it. I know it. Yet we continue this charade. â€œLook! I have two rugrats to chase around, but I still have time to be meditative and bendy!â€ We all know itâ€™s a lie.
The reality? Theyâ€™re comfortable and make our butts look good. (Yes guys, we know youâ€™re checking us out. But hey â€“ who wouldnâ€™t feel a bit flattered by getting checked out while wearing frumpy â€œI think these are clean, I canâ€™t tell they attract so much dog hair, but what the hell Iâ€™m going to Targetâ€ errand-running outfits.
So what are the â€œitâ€ pants? Iâ€™ve tried a bunch. Disclosure: I donâ€™t actually wear these pants for yoga. I donâ€™t actually do yoga; Iâ€™m zero flexible, but totally up for practicing shavasana (corpse pose) because sometimes itâ€™s just necessary.
Obviously the most popular are the sanctimonious Lululemon. Apparently itâ€™s something of a cult. As such, their wares are equally pricey. Have you heard the caution, â€œYou get what you pay forâ€? This is not the case. Lululemon pants are a true lemon.
They may make your butt look good, which I guess is helpful to detract from the muffin top theyâ€™ll inevitably cause. But mostly, theyâ€™re flimsy. One wash and youâ€™re likely to see a hole appear. And given that these are allegedly â€œworkout wear,â€ one would assume they should be able to handle a wash.
I brought this to the attention of a poorly paid store clerk. She offered to have the pants shipped to a seamstress, but otherwise â€œitâ€™s not a manufacturerâ€™s defect.â€
(I beg to disagree. Consider yourself warned. But as you may have heard the recent comments by Lululemon CEO Chip Johnson, I may just be too fat for their pants. My size is a crooked number after all.)
I ventured to the opposite end of the pricing spectrum. I went to Target. Not surprisingly, I emerged having spent roughly the same amount as one would expect at the chic boutique â€“ I just had a lot more than a single pair of pants. (Seriously â€“ what about Target does that to you?)
So they didnâ€™t make my tushy look quite as perky. They tried. They werenâ€™t as comfy either. Plus, a lot of grubby hands go pawing through the racks at Tarjay. (I know this; I have two of them.) So into the laundry for cootie-removal went the black â€œActive Pants.â€
Out came a pair of tights colored a slightly sickly gray â€“ see through and all. (Given the recent manufacturing kerfuffle with Lululemon, woulda thought those would be the â€œI see youâ€™re wearing polka dot undiesâ€ pants.) It was like Dr. Suessâ€™ Grinch, the heart of these pants (well all of these pants) were three sizes too small. Huh. Who knew. Apparently Targetâ€™s pants are disposable clothing.
Thereâ€™s always Victoria Secret. They advertise â€œThe Most Loved Yoga Pant.â€ But I canâ€™t even think about writing that I purchased any pantaloons with PINK emblazed across my rear end â€“ regardless of how perky the (not actually pink) pants make me look â€“ with a straight face. So, no.
I was about ready to give up â€“ those sock-monkey jammie pants will do just fine â€“ when a catalogue landed on my desk. Athleta is the active wear subsidiary of the Gap corporation. And nothing says â€œSuburban Momâ€ more than Gap. So I tried out some of their pants.
I love them. Comfy, cozy, baggy enough to be â€œhome clothes,â€ durable enough to endure muppet messes, and fitted enough to still be sold in the yoga pants category. I modeled them for Jon.
â€œOh my god â€“ whoâ€™s terrible idea was it to put pockets on the butt of yoga pants?!â€ he exclaimed.
But it all comes down to laundry. Such a Sisyphean task that is the undoing of us all. And ironically, one of the reasons a mommy costumes herself in such outfits to begin with.
Now, enough with this discussion about my pants â€“ Destroy has decided he doesnâ€™t like the pants he is wearing, so is skittering about the house with track pants around his ankles. And thereâ€™s nothing quite like hearing from the preschool that youâ€™re the mom with the kid who wonâ€™t wear pants on the playground.
Hope they like the pants I show up inâ€¦