Yes, I can dress myself

Here I am. Super-mom extraordinare. Queen of multi-tasking. Surely something as simple as a shirt won't stomp my style. Picture this.

We just returned back from a morning of swimming. Since I sat in the sun long enough to dry my suit, I'm not clammering to get out of it. I look cute. My stomach is mostly flat, except for the part that isn't. My friend Meagon left a message, so I decide to call her back. Amazingly, seeing as I was thinking about her, she sensed this and called me first.

I take a few precious moments to talk on the phone before my children discover that "mom is doing something" and come rushing in to ask a series of very important questions. Before they find me, I lay down on my bed and stretch, gabbing away on the phone. For a brief moment I feel like a teenager talking to a girlfriend, but then we approach the subject of children, and I am reminded that mine will find me at any moment.

I decide to get dressed before I am discovered unoccupied and available. I lock the door and proceed to dress while still talking on the phone. Doing well, just my shirt left. I sit on the bed and wait for a brief pause in the conversation, in which time I plan to flip my head and the phone through the small opening in the shirt. I plan to leave the phone attached to my ear in case Meagon says something during this time. Okay, I do it.

Instead of briskly sliding onto my head, my shirt decides to attach part of itself to the large clip on top of my head, preventing further movement. So here I sit, phone to my ear, half my head inside my shirt, with the remaining part of the shirt stuck on the clip on the top of my head. It was like a miniature tent for my face, except that there were no marshmellows to roast and I hate camping.