Apr 16, 2008

Not too great at picking my battles.


If you're anything like me (and I hope for your sake you're not), you'll see this picture and wonder, "Who put together that train wreck of an outfit?" I really expected Grace to be three, maybe four before she cared about what she wore, but we've been... negotiating about clothing for quite some time now. Today she was still in her jammies at nap time (NOT my call), but she'd gotten jam all over them at lunch and I had to change her, you know, so the ants wouldn't get her while she slept. I let her pick out her shorts, figuring she'd go next for her favorite orange t-shirt that's too big for her because she knows I think it's too big for her. But she wanted this one. I pretended to misunderstand her and pulled out a solid pink shirt, but she started wailing as if I were trying to pull a shirt of thorns over her head. So I said, "Grace, what difference does it make? You're going to be napping!" I wish I could say she looked me square in the eye and replied, "EXACTLY." But that little voice was in my own head. So I put this shirt on her, and I felt like we both understood what just happened as I put her in her crib.

If you're normal, you're perhaps wondering why she's climbing from couch to couch like a dog. And the obvious answer there is that this is how Brady does it. At least she's not barking.

1 comment:

pix said...

Yet.
I love your writing! You crack me up! How can I not come here every single day and laugh with you? Because, I, too, have a toddler. That is entirely too many commas. I must go.
:)