Mr. Andy, Mailman and Muse

Our mailman is a terrific guy. Mr. Andy, we call him (as that is his real first name -- so not too weird, but the "Mr." was added as a measure of politeness, borne from when the boys were small and we needed something to call him other than "Hey, Mr. Mailman!" or "Hi Mail Guy" every time he came to the porch). Since we knew our relationship with our mail carrier was bound to be a long-term one, we decided on Mr. Andy, and we wave and smile at one another every day. We're even trying (albeit not too successfully) to get Henry to stop barking at Mr. Andy. This is proving to be quite difficult as apparently the pint-sized pooch has determined that Mr. Andy (as well as the UPS guy) is the embodiment of all that is evil. We keep trying to explain that Mr. Andy is a fixture in our lives, and we need to treat him respectfully -- all of us, including the four-legged member of the house.

Since Mr. Andy is our link to the outside world (he brings packages to the Burrow from exotic places such as Bath & Body Works and Barnes & Noble), I realized that he also sees me on a regular basis. While this seems pretty obvious, it dawned on me about a month into our homeschooling experience that Mr. Andy sees me in my pajamas a lot. Sweats, yoga pants and p.j.s seem to be the uniform that I have adopted for CAVA. In fact, there are days when I do not get out of my p.j.s until evening, when I shower and put on a new pair. I'm not kidding. Since I do not have to get dressed to take Grace to school (She gets in the car in the garage and then gets out in the drop-off area. I wear sunglasses and a sweatshirt over my pajamas. No one knows! hee hee), I really don't need to get dressed at all unless we're running errands or (God forbid) have some type of appointment. It's both liberating and frightening.

What does this mean for the long-term? I'm worried that my lack of concern about my choice of attire will lead me down a slippery slope until I'm just sewing old pillowcases together and tying them with rope. The fact that I'm still worried about getting my hair weaved does cheer me up a bit. Lord knows we wouldn't want any roots showing with those burlap sacks. But seriously, what does one do when faced with days where leaving the house is not an option or doesn't have to be? What does one wear on these occasions? What fashion advice does one give to a woman who is mostly concerned about what the mailman thinks? My poor hubby must just cringe when he sees me in my grey sweat pants and blue shirt. Either that or he's jealous as all get out. It's hard to tell.

My first instinct is to leave the Burrow in search of a relaxed wardrobe that still has some fashionable qualities. I'm not sure such garments exist, but it is becoming increasingly clear that I should attempt to find them. Better yet: perhaps I'll do some research and order things online and then Mr. Andy can deliver them! This might be the perfect amount of irony for the situation. Mr. Andy, mailman extraordinaire and inspiration for fashionable stay-at-home moms everywhere.