I'm Sorry

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.

To Jack:

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.