Through Her Eyes

I never claimed to be a fashionista. I have spurts of caring separated by l-o-o-o-ong episodes of the real me. I mean, I believe in looking nice (most of the time), but I can't keep up with the trends. It just makes my head spin. When shopping, I tend towards classic styles and comfort over cutting edge fashion.

Given that our weekends are generally nuts, I greet Monday with blurry eyes, jeans, sweat shirt, and a pony tail. I ease up and allow the kids to wear their pajamas until they are tired of them, then let them pick out their own cloths. And keep my mouth, as well as my eyes, shut. However, due to a change in our weekly schedules, we now have a standing Monday appointment. At 9:30. Late enough to easily get everyone prepped, early enough to have to make a concerted effort to get everyone dressed. To my we-are-going-out-in-public standards.

Which are, admittedly, getting lower every day. Good thing I'm not a celebrity. Of course, then, I could pay someone to care about my clothes as well as theirs...

As I was tying the last of the shoes, Elizabeth came and stood her little sassy self right in front of me.

'Mommy, are you ready yet?' she asked with pure innocence.

'Yes, Lizzie, I am. Let's go get in the van.'

She turned to obey, stopped after a few steps, looked over her shoulder at me, furrowed her little brow, and scrunched her nose. 'Mommy...are you wearing dat today?'

I glanced down at myself. Jeans, t-shirt, tennis shoes, hair combed...what was the problem here?

'Yes, I am wearing this today,' I replied, perhaps a tad defensively. To soften my offended tone, I added, 'Will you be seen with me?'

'Yes...I will walk waaaaaaaaay in da front and be good so you don't have to spank me and I can't see you.'

Mercy!! Where did that come from?!? She's two and a half, for crying out loud! Here I was thinking I still had a good ten years or so before she was mortified of my appearance.