When Micah was just 4 months old, I ventured to the neighborhood park. I carefully laid her down on three puffed quilts and admired her ironed monogrammed onesie.

Upon seeing a cult of mothers nearby, each drinking non-fat soy chai lattes and looking skinny in their yoga pants, I decided to introduce myself.  I mean, I was no longer the outsider that hired their nanny to watch my cat for the weekend. I now understood the desire to pour coffee directly into my eyeballs in order to stay awake. I understood the immense love towards something that just pooped all over me. I was a MOM. I was one of them!

I soon discovered, after listening to the alpha mom criticize an absent cult member, I was not one of them – thankfully.

“You can tell she’s not a good mom.  Just look at her kids.  Hair’s a mess. Their clothes look like she dug them out of the hamper. They look crazy. And, is it just me, or does the baby’s face look lopsided? ”

I distinctly remember thinking two things: (1) I would never send Micah out into this great big world with crazy hair; and (2) the only way Alpha Mom could be beautiful on the inside was if she swallowed her makeup.

Since then, 3+ years have passed and a lot has happened.

Micah lit her hair on fire by trying to blow out a candle. She cut her own hair short to “look like Daddy,” but instead looked like a short matron at a German women’s prison.  She ran down our sidewalk naked to chase Bizou the Schnoodle – with me in Barrett’s boxers and a baby on a hip chasing after her. She consistently has at least one “boo-boo” from scooting, swimming, climbing, jumping, running, or from squeezing/poking/hitting her baby brother who fought back.  And most days, when she’s not in school uniform, getting her to wear anything that matches is a fight not worth fighting…because you will lose.

I recently went to that same park. As I watched Micah running around shrieking with joy as a group of kids chased her around the swing set, I noticed good-ole Alpha Mom studying my daughter.

I immediately regretted not forcing Micah to change her mismatched outfit or brush her hair better – at least enough so she didn’t look like Nick Nolte’s mug shot.

But just as quickly, I came to my senses. My daughter rocks.  She may not look like an American Doll 99% of the time, but she’s beautiful. She’s a dreamer, schemer, trouble-maker, rabble-rouser, and sweetheart of a girl. And I’m a good mom.

So, much to Alpha Mom’s horror, I took out my lipstick, walked over to where Micah had stopped to help a smaller child up a ladder. I smiled at my mentally-hilarious-haired girl and she gladly puckered up.  Mommy was letting her play dress up at the park.

“It’s red lipstick day . . . and you’re beautiful,” I told her, as she blew past me in a blur of blonde hair, red lips, and bare feet.

Mentally Hilarious Hair Days