First, let me thank y’all for staying civil in the comments yesterday. While I realized the Veggie Tales are very near and dear to many of your produce-loving hearts, I didn’t realize the intensity of the devotion. In all fairness, I have never heard the hairbrush song, so I could be missing out on musical greatness for all I know.
And I won’t get into my thoughts on why would a cucumber need a hairbrush in the first place. That’s a whole can of asparagus that I don’t care to open.
Thank you. I’ll be here all week.
Plus, we have reached crisis level at the house of Big Mama. This whole wardrobe issue is OUT OF CONTROL.
And I’m not just talking about P and his closet full of camo and Columbia fishing shirts.
Yesterday morning, Caroline had school and most school days I can manage to get her dressed in an appropriate outfit while she’s mesmerized by “Wow Wow Wubbzy!” without her realizing that her clothes actually match. Oh sure, she’ll add in a headband or three and perhaps clip her hair back with eight different clips, but at least she’s dressed for the right weather and only has on one pair of underwear as opposed to two pairs with some bloomers for good measure.
However, all that has changed. She now insists on going into her closet and picking out her own outfit. I already mentioned this led to her “WORST DAY EVER” on Saturday and then yesterday morning we reached full crisis mode.
She wanted to wear one of her zebra dresses (and yes, it’s a testament to my stellar fashion guidance that she owns more than one zebra print dress) so she disappeared into what I am now referring to as the closet of doom for about fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes, by the way, that we don’t have to spare on a school morning, because if her class leaves for chapel before she gets there then I have to wait another hour before I can drop her off.
Tragic consequences.
I finally entered into the sacred closet to see what was holding up the process. I found her sitting on the floor of her closet wearing a long-sleeved zebra print dress while trying to pull another long-sleeve navy striped dress over the zebra dress. I am all for layering, but no way was that going to work. She’d look like an overstuffed oompa loompa waddling on the playground.
I told her she couldn’t wear two dresses at once, which led to the phrase that is quickly becoming a tagline at our house, “THIS IS THE WORST DAY EVER!” And what I wanted to say is “Sister, you don’t know worst day until you wear two dresses at once and the temperature gets up to 70 degrees this afternoon.”
Instead, I told her she could wear the zebra dress with leggings, tights or her jeans. She chose her jeans. With the zebra dress. With light-up tennis shoes. And a long, hot pink sweater coat.
She looked much like a four year old bag lady.
And as I passed the mamas walking with their darling two year old girls who were wearing precious smocked dresses with darling socks and maryjanes, I wanted to say “Don’t judge me, because your day? It is coming.”
Then, when she got home from school she changed into what she believed to be the best possible outfit for a little afternoon tree climbing in the backyard.
She is one side ponytail and a bottle of bleach away from looking just like Chrissy Snow.
Well, if Chrissy Snow wore socks pulled up to her knees with black patent shoes.
The girl has her own unique style. Which is going to require me to put the summer clothes up on a very high shelf.