The weird thing is, other people think our kids are nice

Sometimes motherhood feels exactly like being the live-in maid to a schizophrenic narcissist with a Napoleon complex. Except that you don't get paid so you're more slave than servant.

One minute your masters are cooing about how much they love you, the next minute they are slamming the sub-par pasta you made to the floor and telling you in a cool serial killer voice that they hate you. The only real constants are the messes and the whining and the pee droplets in front of the toilet. The small dollops of sweetness are just enough to keep you from quitting and running away to Corsica where surely someone will really appreciate you.

Or am I doing it wrong? Are other people's homes just filled with all the cooing sweetness of a Sears Portrait commercial? Are we the only ones who have three-year-olds who tell us they hate us? If we aren't alone then why isn't anyone else speaking up? Why aren't we all shouting from rooftops about how hard this is, and how painful, and how, sometimes, it just plain sucks.

By the way, as I write this Maggie is yelling a story to me through her bedroom door. It goes like this: "I love you so much and I'm you friend and I want you and I love you as big as the world."

And that's how they get you. It's sick.

It's not mom jeans but it's not good either

photo from here

The worst thing about not working? My outfits, hands down. Now that I'm an urban farming co-op mom who doesn't work outside the home, things have really taken a nose dive in the fashion department.

It's a small price to pay for my freedom, and I hate to get too cliche about how much chicks love shoes but, well, I sort of love shoes a whole lot, and at this particular moment my life really only calls for shoes I don't mind getting spattered with poster paint or filled with sand.

Even looking at clothes has lost its luster. I'm like a depressed person trying to muster the will to get out of the house. What's the point? I think as I pass racks of really cute, black Japanese-y tunics and big ol' Beyonce earrings that would normally have me filled with a rekindled will to live.

I have recently been inspired by a bunch of the preschool moms who manage to pull off these cute yoga wrap/clogs/jeans ensembles, but then I remember the pendulous muffin top that I am working with these days and my fashion slump comes back.

What I need is a uniform. It must involve black Dansko clogs because in a fit of wanting to fit in, I bought a pair. All suggestions welcome. Photos especially appreciated.