A few apologies are in order.
To the people at the car wash who saw me spraying off my salty van in my pink pajama pants (which aptly say "I'm a bear in the morning" and feature surly-looking black bears), and my ratty old hoodie, and those darn comfy orange sneakers that aren't doing my look any favors:
I'm sorry. That was a sight you didn't deserve to see. Sorry also that you couldn't avoid missing my pajama-clad behind as I vacuumed the fry remains and Reese's wrappers from my vehicle for ten minutes straight.
To the folks at the two different drive-through windows who helped me with my orders today, and who managed to look past my third-day hair and my face sans Bare Minerals:
You deserve better. Even people in cars in drive-throughs could make a bit of an effort, right? You ARE right, and I wish I had more personal grooming time today to make our encounters less terrifying. Let me just say that you helped assuage a pox-stricken boy with special needs who needed to get out.
To my husband:
Thanks for taking over so I could finally brush my teeth at 7:00 PM.
To my neighbors, who saw me looking unwashed and irritable in my jammies. My rumpled bear jammies:
Please ignore me. When the viral plague leaves our abode and the boys return to school, a comforting routine will descend on this house and we will no longer be trashing up the neighborhood every time we step outside.
To my children:
I love you. Stop fighting over the Xbox.
We've almost made it through this Christmas crucible. You're going to be better soon, and we are never going to look back.
To the month of January:
It's ridiculous how excited I am for your arrival. Now come hither.