I have decided that I need to dress up more. Even if I will be home all day. Even when my big outing is to the mailbox. I have decided that everyday I need to do a few things.

1. Put on a fresh face. Each morning I am going to try to put on a little natural looking makeup when I wake up (not at 5:00 p.m., just before my husband comes home from work).

2. Put together a cute outfit that matches and has jewelry and cute shoes. Heck, I might even wear a dress sometimes. At home. With my kids.

3. Brush and style my hair. Maybe even curl it. Shocker.

Now, I am not a slob (most of the time) and I do not lounge around in paint stained sweat pants (most of the time). But I admit that my level of togetherness is not as fabulous as it could be.

So why in the sticks am I making all this fuss about looking together and polished while I am at home with my family? Because I am tired of Hollywood and the working women getting all the glory. Here I am, trying to impress upon my daughters (and my husband on some level, too) that being a stay at home mom is a great profession. That is it a worthy endeavor. That it is wonderful and totally on the same level as being a famous actress or musician or CEO. And then I look at what my appearance is telling them and feel a bit guilty.

If I want girls to aspire to be a stay at home mom, shouldn’t I do my part to show how truly important it is? What message am I sending when I look like a sloppy, tired mess most of the time? Not a very inspiring one. So my point is not to spend $40,000 on a new wardrobe or drop $300 on a pair of high heels. But I think there is a case for investing a little in my appearance in regards to how “glamorous” I make motherhood.

People sometimes scoff at the women from the 1940′s and 50′s. How they dressed up in heels and pearls to vacuum and make pot roast. But I think they were on to something. Motherhood was serious business. It was fancy and special. It was honorable and appreciated. My hope is that if we stay at home moms can make a concerted effort to make a concerted effort, the job of motherhood will be restored to its rightful place. Don’t Tammy-Faye-Baker your face or anything, but take a few moments to make yourself look put together, modest and stylish. Think about all the images of women your children are seeing. Don’t let the Kardashians have the last word on what a woman is all about!

Allison is a mother of three, and will probably have up to five if her sanity holds. She and her hubby live in Atlanta, Georgia, and are enjoying the joys and pains of being parents. Mostly, they just laugh a lot. To read more by Allison, click here.

We have all heard the clichés about time: it flies when you’re having fun, it marches on, it passes faster as you get older. I always thought these people were a little full of it. I mean, time is time. A year is still 365 days, right? So really, how can the passage of time be all that different as you get older?

Well, it turns out these people were right. Punks. Time does start flying! However, I would like to amend the statements. Although it does fly when you are having fun, it also flies when you are changing diapers, and packing lunches, and working on homework, and driving to football practice, and baking 20 dozen cookies for some stupid (I mean splendid) bake sale.

Do you ever have those moments where you just stop and look around and realize, CRAP– I am old!! The other day I had the windows rolled down in the truck and I was rocking out to that Miley Cyrus Song “Party in the U.S.A.” I thought I was sooo cool. But when I caught myself in the rear view mirror, something strange happened. Instead of peering into the exotic eyes of a 23-year-old, I was looking at someone with crow’s feet and over-highlighted hair and a somewhat saggy chin. OMG!! How did this woman get into my car? And then the realization washed over me— I AM this woman.

I cannot even call myself a girl anymore. There are plenty of women who age well and look better the older they get. Zippity-freakin-doodah for them. But, I digress. I don’t have a problem with getting older. What I have a problem with is how darn fast it seems to be happening. Not that many years ago I brought my first child home from the hospital, and now we are already researching schools for her to go to. Schools, people! What happened to researching bottles or booster seats? Have we moved on that quickly? Before I know I will be researching reception venues for her wedding!

Sometimes I wish we had a remote control for the passage of time. Certain periods I would just like to pause for a while, like when I could wear a two piece at the beach and nothing rolled over it. Or maybe just let life go by in slow motion– like when my kids were babies and couldn’t talk back or yell at me about their outfits.

Then there are other times I would just like to super fast-forward. Let’s just get on with how long it took me to lose my baby weight (as if that journey is REALLY over). Or maybe we could just skip that scene entirely where we haven’t showered or worn makeup for months at a time. Who needs to see that? And that time everyone in our house had the flu– we can just zip right through that.

Maybe instead of life being like a box of chocolates, it could just be like a DVD. That way we can replay the parts we really like, skip the ones we don’t, and delete the ones that make us wish wine came out of the kitchen faucet.

Allison is a mother of three, and will probably have up to five if her sanity holds. She and her hubby live in Atlanta, Georgia, and are enjoying the joys and pains of being parents. Mostly, they just laugh a lot. To read more by Allison, click here.

A friend of mine recently had twins and was sharing on Facebook how hard it was to take them shopping. Clearly these are her “first.” Seasoned moms know that “kids” and “shopping” are like plaid and polka dots. Not a good combination.

I am confident that the last dressing room I used was in the Clinton Administration. Have you tried to push a stroller through those doors? Getting my post baby hips into that small space is traumatic enough. The last thing I need is to have to stand 3 millimeters from the fun house fat mirror because my daughter is in there, too.

Half my clothes don’t fit. It might be because I gained a few thousand pounds gestating three kids. But I am going to tell myself that it is really because I do not have time to try on clothes anymore so I keep buying the wrong size. Yeah, that’s it.

And, of course, when you do lose your mind and actually attempt to take your little ones into a dressing room with a few items to try on, you select the handicap room. Now, I hope this comes across the right way, but shopping with kids is a handicap. If my husband gets one for sucking at golf, I sure as heck should get one for trying to buy clothes that FIT (the audacity of me, I know) while pushing a stroller, toting a diaper bag, and a very alive and alert baby!!

You are stripping down faster than a groom on his honeymoon in a mad dash to try on all your items before baby gets bored. Or hungry. Or sleepy. And you know that child has been in the best mood (which is why you THOUGHT this would work in the first place), only to change into psycho baby the minute you enter the room. Clothes are flying, pants are dropping, granny panties are flashing, goldfish are crumbled, your cell phone is drooled on… and maybe you luck out and something you like fits. Because you sure aren’t going back for a different size and going through all of this again!

Owen Wilson entertaining the kids in Wedding Crashers (New Line Cinema)

If a store really wants to make money, it should have a balloon dude or magician in the front lobby of the dressing room. Park your kids, go try on your clothes, and then pay…oh, and then pick up your kids.

Allison is a mother of three, and will probably have up to five if her sanity holds. She and her hubby live in Atlanta, Georgia, and are enjoying the joys and pains of being parents. Mostly, they just laugh a lot. To read more by Allison, click here.

I am a Southern girl. Okay, I am technically from California, but I have lived in the South long enough to say “y’all” and “lady” and “sugarbritches.” Well, not that last one but you get my point. My good Southern manners have taught me to say, “I am fine,” when really I am on the brink of an internal meltdown of sorts, and they have also taught me to hold my tongue.

But gosh dern it if there are not times I just want to look at people and say, “No stinkin’ kidding!!!!!” Unsure what I mean? Here is a list of things I WISH I could say:

- To the lady in the checkout lane who looks at my 7 month old and says, “My, I bet your tootsies sure are cold!”

What she means: “You poor neglected child. If your mother REALLY loved you she would put socks on you. Your mom sucks.”

What I want to tell her: “SHUUUTTTTT YOUR PIE HOLE!!!!!!!! As you can tell by the seven single socks peering out the top of my ginorma-purse, my daughter takes off her socks. I am not sure how developmentally advanced babies were 10,000 years ago when you had a kid, but these days they can actually remove their socks. Amazing. Go ahead, put her socks on. Again. And let me know how many NANOseconds it takes her to take them off. I HAVE done this before.”

- To my mother who keeps saying, “Oh, baby, you really need a haircut.”

What she means: “Your bangs are in your eyes and they drive me nuts. I want your mom to cut your bangs. Or put a barrette in your hair. I don’t think she cares about your appearance. Maybe I should buy you some hair clips. Even though you have two sisters, you must not have any hair accessories in your house at all.”

What I want to tell her: “Hair grows. I know, it might sound strange, but I promise if you just wait several months (she’s only one!), her now-bangs will actually be hair. That I can put in a ponytail or a cute clip or a headband. Oh, and we DO have hair clips. But babies have these weird things at the ends of their arms called hands. And she, get this, USES them to pull any and every hair accessory off her head. Every time. Yes, that was EVERY time. And if you think I am going to cut her bangs, I ask you to refer to Exhibit A. The picture of her oldest sister at Christmas 2006 when I caved into your pressure and pixie butchered her bangs. Really, she looked like a 1950s biker chick. Or an extra from Dusk Til Dawn. It was b.a.d. So NOOOO I will not cut her hair.”

But of course I would never say these things (out loud). Because these darlin’ women are just trying to make polite conversation. They know not what they do to my psyche. So I hush and smile and move on. But I do, on occasion, hope that someone with an obscene number of coupons gets in front of them in line.

And here are a few of my favorites~

ALL of which my children will use and keep on when they are old enough. Right now everything is edible. No stinkin’ kidding.

1. Baby socks (Only Trumpette brand doesn’t fall off. The others are scams!)

2. Kid tights and knee highs (Garnett Hill)

3. A.dor.able hair accessories (Joyfolie clips)

Allison is a mother of three, and will probably have up to five if her sanity holds. She and her hubby live in Atlanta, Georgia, and are enjoying the joys and pains of being parents. Mostly, they just laugh a lot. To read more by Allison, click here.