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The Times, They Are a-Changin'
By Amy Bangerter

How one woman's wardrobe reflects the plethora of changes she undergoes everyday.

aaaas is my usual custom this time of year, I spent the second day of January knee-deep in piles of cardigans, woolen trousers, well-worn T-shirts, and last year's little black dress. While performing this annual wardrobe purge, I was struck by the variety of clothes my closet contained and the variety of sizes of those clothes. I pawed my way through my skinny jeans, my fat jeans, my pre-pregnancy trousers, my pregnancy trousers, my post-pregnancy trousers, my little black dress, my big black dress. I found shirts in sizes XS, S, M, and L, and one enormous sweatshirt without a label. I found shoes that ranged from somewhere in the eights to somewhere in the double digits. There are more cup sizes in my unmentionables drawer than there are in my kitchen cupboard. And the types of
aa clothes I discovered: sexy clothes I wear for my husband, elegant clothes I wear for official work functions as wife of said husband, stain-resistant clothes I wear to the park to chase after my three boys, clothes with reinforced shoulder pads that double as burp cloths for my baby, hip clothes I wear to play dates to show the other moms that birthing children and maintaining fashion sense are not mutually exclusive, and finally, hiding guiltily in the darkness of the armoire, a few pieces of clothing I wear for

myself when I need reminding that I am alive and kicking somewhere inside this life of mine.
aaaaSuch a heralding of the New Year is bound to lead to some observations--some positive, some not-so-positive--about my thirty-something life. As a woman, my life is full of changes. As evidenced by my sartorial study, my body is constantly changing, as are the roles I try to perform everyday. When I began to replay a typical day in my mind, I was surprised to discover that my wardrobe only tells a small part of the entire story. In fact, sometimes I feel that the only constant in each of my hectic days is the number of times my role changes within them. To demonstrate, I offer for your consideration a rough outline of a normal day's schedule, complete with costume and identity changes worthy of Superman:

5:00 a.m. I am breakfast for my baby.
6:30 a.m. I am a makeup artist: I paint myself to look 28 years old again.
7:05 a.m. I am a fashion consultant: I help my husband pick out a tie, then match helicopter shirts to dinosaur pants and fire engine socks for my three boys.
7:09 a.m. I am a sanitation engineer: I attack a toxic waste spill that has found its way into my two-year-old's diaper and properly dispose of the bio-hazardous material.
7:20 a.m. I am a gourmet chef: I pour bowls of pre-sweetened breakfast cereal with great love and attention for my family.
7:22 a.m. I am a devious mother: I trick my children into drinking powdered milk since there is no real milk in the fridge.
7:40 a.m. I am the safety supervisor: I inform my four-year-old that bread knives are not toys and confiscate the knife. I also confiscate the scissors he is running with around the house.
8:05 a.m. I am in quick succession an expert helicopter repairwoman, railroad track constructor, master Mega-block architect, and Batman villain understudy. I do an especially mean Catwoman (or "Catmom" as my four-year-old calls me).
8:55 a.m. I am a pediatrician: I slather my baby in medicated lotion to alleviate his eczema.
9:00 a.m. I am a preschool teacher: I teach my four-year-old how to recognize shapes, numbers, and letters, and how to color inside the lines but think outside the box.
10:00 a.m. I am a taxi driver, driving my children to the park and carefully extricating each child from the car in a specified order. I unload the bikes, trikes, and kites from the back of the vehicle.
10:05 a.m. I am an athlete: I ride bikes, give underdogs on the swings, chase and am chased, slide, seesaw, and occasionally breathe.
11:40 a.m. I am an entomologist: I resist the urge to run screaming and instead try to discover the unique majesty of a wicked-looking bug molting in the grass. After we have finished appreciating the bug's majesty, I move the picnic blanket about twenty-four yards south.
11:45 a.m. I am a caterer: I remove an assortment of nutritious yet entertaining food from a carefully prepared basket and watch with joy as my children eat the carrot sticks first and refuse the juice boxes. (Okay, that isn't exactly what happens.)
12:45 p.m. I am the disciplinarian: I inform my two-year-old that he has one more chance to go to sleep without a smack on his bottom. I am grateful he does not call my bluff and discover I have had very little practice smacking bottoms. I realize I should have played more football growing up.
1:00 p.m. I am academe: I continue working on a research article for an upcoming publication. The baby wakes up before I have had two complete thoughts in a row.
2:00 p.m. I am the goofy mom: I make faces at my baby, play peek-a-boo sixteen times, and teach him how to stick out his tongue. I immediately regret that last decision.
3:00 p.m. I am the housekeeper: I remove the sheets from my two-year-old's bed due to their high urine content.
3:30 p.m. I am a master consumer: As I run errands with my four-year-old, I only buy items that are absolutely necessary for my family's survival, are on-sale, and are organically produced and completely benign. (Okay, that isn't exactly what happens either.)
5:15 p.m. I am a member of the welcoming committee: I welcome my husband home from a stressful day at work, reassure him that he is brilliant, talented, and amazing by reminding him that I didn't marry beneath myself.
5:30 p.m. I am a nutritionist: Don't be fooled by the fact that I prepare a dinner where vegetables are an afterthought; for, although I do not make my children sit for an hour and stare at their broccoli, when they are hungry later in the evening, I put the broccoli in front of them again. I eat chocolate for dinner when no one is looking.

6:00 p.m. I am a tired mom: I allow my children to pick a movie, resulting in watching Batman cartoons for the third time in three days. I take notes on Catwoman for tomorrow's role-play.
6:35 p.m. I am a justice of the peace: My four-year-old claims he is the victim of his brother's physical aggression. Like Solomon of old, I resolve the dispute by telling both of them I will cut their toys in half if they can't get along.
6:45 p.m. I am a sympathetic listener: I answer the phone to hear my friend's stressed voice. My husband nods sympathetically and takes the children upstairs to bed. I advise my friend that her gender does not inherently determine her responsibilities. I tell her my husband taught me that.		  
7:15 p.m. I am the family treasurer: I balance the budget and resolve not to make another frivolous purchase as long as I live.
7:30 p.m. I am a Sunday school teacher: While preparing my lesson I read in the Bible that patience is a virtue. I write it down on my shopping list next to "celery".
8:30 p.m. I am a delightful wife. I play Scrabble, tell funny jokes, and make out with my husband. (This one is actually true.)
11:00 p.m. I am alone. I think about the changes I experienced today, from the different clothes I wore to the different roles I played. I resolve to enjoy the production that is my life a little bit more, worry a little bit less, and go to the mall to buy some new costumes.