Keepin' It Real

I was just thinking about an experience I had about a year ago, and it made me laugh and blush in shame all at the same time.  I thought I should just write it down, so I can torture myself with this memory in later years.

It was right before Raychel’s spring piano recital.  Lisa, her teacher, always has the students come and play on the baby grand to get a feel for their piece in the “concert venue”.  The recitals are held at the stake center.  Typically, I drop Raychel off and wait in the car for her to get done.  This day, however, I wanted to speak with Lisa about a flute I had purchased from Goodwill ($40 bucks, thank you very much).  We pull in the parking lot and there are probably 12 missionaries exiting the building.  I just thought some zone conference was getting over.  I don’t need to look impressive for a bunch of kids.  Now, when I say “not impressive” I’m talking borderline gross.  Breakdown: I had not washed my hair in approximately 3 days.  Minimal makeup: eyebrows and 2 swipes of mascara.  Attire: Wal-mart yoga capris with bleach stains on the butt (when I color hair I always somehow get bleach spots on my butt), enormous hoodie with a hole in the armpit, cheap flip-flops, and the “piece de resistance”: hairy legs.  I show Lisa the flute, she’s impressed (excellent).  I tell Raychel I’m going to be out in the car.  Lisa stops me and invites me to listen while Raychel plays.  Ok, fine, I can hide in the corner…no one will notice.  The missionaries keep popping out of the woodwork.  They are all over the place.  As Raychel’s lesson continues, I notice this sharply dressed Asian man keep coming  in and out of a classroom.  It looked as though he was interviewing some of these missionaries.  I didn’t recognize him but I was totally thinking “I bet money that guy is a General Authority.”  Then the mission president strolls through the chapel and compliments Raychel on her playing.  I just hunker down and take no ownership of the child prodigy.  Lesson is over, building is pretty much empty at this point.  Thank goodness, I can bolt out of here without anyone really seeing me.  THAT was close.  I really should not leave the house so ugly.  Oh, crap, where are the twins!?  I listen.  I can hear them talking.  I walk out in the foyer and they are totally shooting the breeze with the mission president and Elder Teh (the sharply dressed Asian man).  Oh.  My.  Gosh.  Can I please rewind to where I choose to sit in the car and talk about the flute later?  We make introductions.  At this point I’m not sure if my face is completely white from shock or red from humiliation.  I know I felt some sweat forming around my greasy hairline.  Thank goodness my sweatshirt had that huge hole for some ventilation (haha!).  The mission president recognizes me as “President Brewer’s daughter”.  Doh!  My poor dad.  I felt like Mulan “bringing shame to my family name.”  So embarrassing!!

As I was told my mom about it, we were having a good laugh AT me.  She just said, “That’s ok.  You’re a real mom doing real work.  And no one thought any different.”   Thank goodness for moms.  Mine always knows the right thing to say.  AT LEAST my girls looked cute!