i’m certainly not high fashion. that much is clear. i mean, you all, i went out last night in what seemed like a good outfit. skinny jeans (jbrands. love) a black shirt and black boots. only, i was spending so much time BEFORE i went out at 10pm panicking about being able to stay up UNTIL 10pm to go out, that i didn’t realize i was wearing a white bra underneath my black shirt (which, yes, i realize is not as bad as black bra under white shirt, but under the lights of Fashion House? GAH)

oh yes i did.

i am ALL class.

other classy things i did while i was at Fashion Week last night:

lost my cell phone

popped a button on my lovely jbrand skinnies

broke my favorite purse

but here’s the thing. sure, i may have been at an event where i was very fish-out-of-water. also, i’m sure i was the only person there who was neither 5″10 nor flamboyant. but i was there. I got to go to fashion week.

you probably shouldn’t really feel bad for me.

Yesterday, i got an email from Becca, the world’s loveliest person AND web designer (she’s making me an ever-so-fancy review blog…so i can review lots of shit for you! awesome!) and it said this:

I knew you were working it out at FASHIONWEEKZOMGAWESOMENESSFOREVER! I’m so excited that you got to go; you deserve it to be there and will rock it. You are seriously my epitome of, like, having it all. You know how you read those novels and the heroine has three adorable kids and a hot husband and a closet of adorable clothes and is 100 pounds and also works as a book publisher and also jetsets to Fashion Week? And you think, who the hell is really like that? YOU.

(ps. i hope she doesn’t mind me posting this)

and it really got me thinking.

if someone tells me my kids are cute, i’m always all “yeah, well, you should see them at bedtime! monsters!”

if somone tells me i have adorable clothing, i’m always all “are you high? i have the worst clothing and i only shop at the same store and i always look exactly the same”

if someone tells me it looks like Olga and the gym are working, i’m always all “What? i’m so HUGE! look at me! i popped a friggin’ button on my jeans!”

see where i’m going with this? i have issues, clearly, with accepting a compliment. and accepting that, really, my life? IS AWESOME.

i spend a lot of time thinking that there are people who are prettier, thinner, smarter, more successful, funnier, better photographers, better writers, better editors, better cooks, better moms, better just-well-everything. i spend a lot of time feeling like i’m floundering; that i take on too much. because i can’t remember the permission slips and i always forget to make the play date with Maggi and i have to listen to Emily read her book on tsunamis to me while i put on my make-up to go out to an event. and i leave too early in the morning to know that my nanny is putting Josh in his SISTER’S JEANS.  some days i need three coffees to make it through the day. and cookie dough. i eat a lot of cookie dough. and you know, take an occasional xanax.

but when i get emails like that one from Becca, it is a huge wake up call because oh my god you guys, my life is AMAZING. really, it is. (cough.FASHION WEEK. cough)

and i’m pretty sure that even though i forget permission slips and playdates, there are at least three little monsters out there who think what i do is pretty awesome… (and not only because i get them free  [insert company name here] books either…)

even if i’m totally old and think that going out at 10pm on a work night is TOO LATE when you know, there are some pajamas and some 30 Rock calling my name…