Remember That Time My Twins Humiliated Me in Public?

I started this blog years ago {in 2006 to be exact} to record little stories about my life as the mother to a bunch {5} of little kids {at the time they were aged 6 years and under, I believe}, including my twins who were constantly and I do mean constantly getting into all kinds of mischief.  Since then it’s morphed into so much more, and as you know, these days there’s a lot less mischief going on and more requests from the girls to stay absent from the spotlight there are  less entries about my kids {boo} yet more entries about other things that interest me {yahoo}.

So, it’s fun for me to go back to my archives and see how much the times have changed.   This post is one of my all time favorites because it so clearly illustrates one of my most embarrassing moments, but also reminds me what life used to be like when I had to deal with strollers and bottles and diapers and when shopping with children was a necessity.

Back then I wrote a  6 word description of my life, but really spoke about my life as a mother.

Most days my memoir was: 

Not what I imagined. Better. More. {I love that I wrote that back then when I remember things being so messy!}

Back then I also wrote:

Some days it’s

I did not expect. Utter. Humiliation.

Because sometimes being a mother makes for some seriously humiliating situations. I’ve been pooped on, peed on, coughed on, bled on, and had snot wiped all over me. I’ve had personal stories revealed, family secrets exposed and inaccurate information distributed. All humiliating instances I can roll with, but I have to draw the line somewhere, and that line is firmly placed where I’m wearing clothing. Go ahead and embarrass me in public, but PLEASE, make sure I have my clothes on, that I can move all of my limbs, and that there is an escape route. Because I really cannot stop thinking about being exposed to the Banana Republic shoppers in my underclothing on Saturday, with no escape route and my finger wedged in the door hinge. All compliments of my twins. So here is my advice.

Never, ever, ever under any circumstance take your twins into a dressing room with you and park them next to the door, wedging yourself into the room.

Never, ever, ever grab the inside hinge of the door to try to close it when it has been flung open by your children and you are in your underclothing. Because then your wedding ring might get stuck in the hinge when you are trying futilely to close the door and the fitting room attendant tries to help. And then you’d be stuck in your under clothing right by the mirror that reflects down the whole dressing room with no way to close the door and no where to hide.

Just then, you might be mortified. And want to crawl into a hole and WISH you were having a nightmare.

And if I were you, I’d stick to trying on bathing suits when you are alone. You just never know.

Thank goodness I can go shopping alone these days!  :)

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