My Beloved, my late Mommaw, had a way with words.

One Thursday, between the births of Granddaughters 1 and 2, my mother was chastising me for my wardrobe. We’d been having that argument since I was 14, so it was nothing new. I was in cut-off sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, reminding Mom for the 1,000th time that nursing and Chanel suits don’t mesh when Mommaw decided to weigh in.

“Would it kill you to put some damn lipstick on?”

To say this offended me would be an understatement. I grabbed my child and stormed out, filled with justifications. I was Tired. I was Put-Out. I was the sole housekeeper to One Husband, two Mancubs and a Baby.

Who was ANYONE to judge me?

My wardrobe was the same after the birth of the second daughter , except that it was winter, so I was wearing yoga pants instead of cut-offs.

Why do I relay this story?

Moms of the World: Mommaw was right.

We are tired. We are put-out. We do more than anyone else on the planet, with no thank you’s, no recognition or parades until May. We make ends meet, nurture the next generation, and read articles telling us no matter what we’re doing – it’s wrong. And no one says, “Good job!”

Still, put some lipstick on.

Many of us are Oversized, Underfit, and, if you’re like me, jealous of your Husband, who gets a Real Life while you juggle dishes and diapers, spit-up and Spandex, honeymoon photos and “Jesus, is that me?” pics.

Put some lipstick on.

Husband calls me every night on his way home. I know I have 30 minutes before he walks in the door, so I have started listening to my Inner Mommaw. I brush my hair, change into some clean pants (yoga or jeans, as long as they’re clean) and put some lip gloss on.

It has drastically changed my outlook.

I get excited when Husband calls – and not for the break. I want him to see my hair down. I want him to see the effort of wearing lipstick while kissing boo-boos.

Does it work?

My basement is clean, my air filters are changed, and all lightbulbs are replaced with no lists from me.

Sexy got you into this mess. Shouldn’t Sexy get you out?