No Shoes, No Pants, It Must Be Thanksgiving

At the end of Thanksgiving today, I was without shoes and wearing someone else's pants.  Did I have a momentary relapse into my college days?  Nope. While this story does not show me in the best light, since I fully disclose everything about my children, it is with total transparency that I share my less-than-shining moment with you now.

The day started out fine. A quick workout and then we packed up the car to head to the first Thanksgiving meal of the day at my parents' house. The dinner was great and enjoyable. The biggest event was convincing my mom to use the "good wine" for her wine-drinking guests, ie me and my little brother.
Me: "Should we get out some wine?"
Mom: "Sure, I have some in the fridge. We can have the cheap wine or the good wine."
Me: "Pretty sure I want the good wine Mom."
Mom: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Yeah, why would I want to drink crappy wine? Who are you saving it for?"
Mom: No response
Me: Wondering who the heck this better wine is supposed to be for!?
For the record, the wine was really good. And the cheap wine ended up being really cheap so I'm glad we skipped it. But this wine is not the reason for my wardrobe malfunction (before you start jumping to conclusions.)

After an epic fail at putting Rocco down for a nap, we pack up again and head to house number two, aka Pete's folks. As I am still too full to eat, I take the first shift of chasing/entertaining Rocco while Pete eats. We wander around the farm, checking for cats and tractors, and finally decide to watch the cows.

I sit down on the ground and reach for Rocco so we can watch the cows better. And that's when I see it. Dog poo.
Me: "Um, Rocco, let's be sure you sit on a dry patch of grass here buddy."
Then I look around again. Dog poo is EVERYWHERE. This seems to be the main potty area for the dogs. Uh oh. Surely it's on Rocco's shoes at this point. And then it hits me. I didn't check where I was sitting down either. I quickly stand up and sure enough, somehow I managed to perfectly position myself over a pile of dog poo and now it was all over the back of my jeans. Oh, and also on my running shoes. You know the shoes I'm talking about - the ones with really good traction, aka lots of little grooves for dog poo to get permanently stuck in.

I holler to Max to get his dad to bring me paper towels and wet wipes. Being a 7 year old, it was imperative for him to know WHY, and after some giggling, he promptly told his dad what I needed and why. Pete comes out quickly while I am doing my best not to panic. He tries to clean me up, but there's no totally cleaning this off.

I slink into the house and my very considerate in-laws try to find me something else to wear. After much searching, my MIL finds me a pair of jeans.  I change clothes and stink less thankfully (something to be thankful for! bring on the turkey!).

The rest of the day is uneventful compared to basically rolling in dog poo. As the day comes to a close, I thank my MIL one more time for the jeans. She then tells me that they are Great-Grandma's jeans. I walk to the Jeep in my socked feet (those shoes are horrible!). And as we drive away, I couldn't stop laughing at the fact my day ended with me in socks wearing Great Grandma's jeans.

I told Peter I don't know the last time I felt less sexy. I thought maybe in maternity clothes. He looks at me and says "Oh no. You were much sexier in maternity clothes." Keep in mind this means I was sexier in huge tent-like clothes, 40 pounds heavier. (Side note, I actually gained 60 pounds with each pregnancy, but I still have 20 left to lose.)

And just so you know, as I am writing, I am still wearing those jeans. Meow!