Love Child

Today, when I picked Garrett up from school, I was wearing nothing but a bathing suit, flip flops and a hippie/strapless cover up that I bought at a thrift store in San Diego last summer. This proved to be a bad idea because, while the garment is fun in a boho-chic, see you on the beach, sort of way, it also kind of resembles the love child of a tube top and a muumuu. This, in and of itself is not a big deal. I planned to jump out of the car, grab the kid, and hop back in the car, minimizing the number of students--who know me as a substitute--who would actually see me looking minimally clad.

But my kid's class was having a popsicle party outside. Garrett wasn't finished with his so we had to wait, while ALL THE CLASSES FILED PAST, for him to consume it. So there I was, looking like I belonged poolside (because, well, I did). Students, parents, and teachers, (specifically Garrett's teacher who, in fact, always looks cute and would never, never wear a baby muutube) all milled about.

My son eyed me. "Are we going to the pool or something?" No, Son. This is just a new style I'm trying out. I like to keep people guessing as to whether I'm nine months pregnant or not at all pregnant. Nevermind the bathing suit strap wrapped around my neck. Also, another clue was his little brother, clad only in swim trunks and a rash guard.

"When you finish your popsicle, yes."

He ate it quickly. That's when I noticed that he didn't have his basketball. Because of course he left it in his classroom. The doors automatically lock and I had to approach a fourth grade teacher to ask her if she could let us in. She was very nice about it. She didn't gawk at my interesting choice of clothing nor did she ask me how far along I was.

After the ball was obtained, we hightailed it to the van. Once inside I asked my son the dreaded question. "Were you embarrassed because I'm dressed like this?"

"Yes," he mumbled.

"Do I look silly?" I asked

"I saw you and I was like, 'WHA? WHY IS MY MOM WEARING THAT? She doesn't usually wear a weird dress and a bathing suit to pick me up."

"So, were you wishing you didn't have to be seen with me?"

"Well, once I realized we were going to the pool, I understood." Apparently we can cross the hippie look off of the list of acceptable attire when I'm going to be seen with my seven-year-old. But then I bought him a vanilla dish from Sonic and we spent two hours at the pool, so I'm forgiven.