On Saturday afternoon, I walked into the living room, and my daughter Gabbey said, “Whoa, Mom. You’re all dressed up. Where are you going?”

For a moment, I stared at her in puzzlement. Then I looked myself over, from the bottom up: sneakers, white anklet socks, jeans, and a sweater top my husband bought me for my birthday last month. Dressed up? It’s true – I was going out, but just 3 miles down the road to visit my 95-year-old grandfather at the nursing home. Really? Dressed up?

And then it hit me. Since I started working from home I wear sweats. All the time. Pajamas all day. Yoga pants and a Doctor Who  t-shirt. I didn’t know whether to laugh or be really depressed. Wearing jeans now constituted “Mom is dressed up” in my kids’ minds.

Have I become Oscar Madison?


Apologies to Matthew Perry and Walter Matthau. I grew up on Jack Klugman as Oscar.

Last week, I mentioned that I was making a more conscious effort to “go to work” in “my office” downstairs in the basement. (Instead of on the living room sofa or at the kitchen table.) Should I make the effort to “get dressed for work” even when I’m not leaving the house?

Or should I just own it?