Friday, May 19, 2006


Five and a half years ago I lost a fight over clothing issues with the (now) nine year old. She insisted on wearing a dress to day care on a subzero Minnesota morning (day care in Minnesota has the kids go outside to play no matter what the temperature--toughens them up I guess). She was willing to wear a clashing pair of pants underneath but I, sleep-deprived and stupid from the recent birth of her younger sister, said no. The stand-off continued until it slowly dawned on me that my daughter's choice of what to wear didn't matter so long as it wasn't likely to make her sick. Style is an oxymoron where a three year old is concerned. As I gave in I promised myself never to pick a fashion fight with my kids again.

And I never have (my all-time favorite outfit choice consisted of a raggedy pink tutu worn over a jumper sewn by my nearly-blind grandmother, rubber ducky boots and topped off with an Easter bunny ears headband).

So that's why I said OK when the five year old decided to paint her nails pink in anticipation of today's kindergarten welcome session (she starts school this fall). Well, that and a short-sighted bid for peace to try to get a few last-minute items done for work. So she painted her nails ... and her hands and her shirt. The Warrior Monk was appalled and hosed her down with nail polish remover. Yes, they were late to the welcome "party." But they had a good time and no one seems to have commented on the odd pink spots on her shirt. Is that vindication?


Post a Comment