Wife, Mother, (Very Poor) Magician
5:55 am, a couple of hours ago:
I have just showered and grimaced at my face in the mirror and am now glaring at the contents in my closet, mulling over what basic pair of pants (does anything not need a bit of a press?) to pull on with which basic sweater. Garanimals for adults.
Charles (dashing in, wearing parka, with car keys in hand): "Oh, Colin needs to dress like a farmer today for school. He was upset about what to wear last night. See you tonight. Love you!"
Me (having gotten home at 10pm last night from late meeting): "....????!!!!!"
OK, time for mommy magic. Pull a farmer outfit from your hat. Farmers. Hmmmm. No bib overalls. No flannel. No suspenders. No work boots. Looking grim. Glare at Colin's closet, glare at his shirt drawer, glare at my closet, glare at Charles' closet. Wash, rinse, repeat.
20 min later, I am dressed in Diana-wear, have found a pair of his jeans with a rip in the knee (Colin's idea of farmer leg wear), a henley shirt slightly bigger than him (bought on sale for him to grow into), a red broadcloth shirt of mine (massively big but not as big as the denim shirt of Charles') and, best of best, my dad's old red felt hat that he used to wear when working one summer or so watching for forrest fires as a college kid.
No, he doesn't look much like a farmer but he looks like something. Put him with a bunch of other kindergarteners and he will blend. Plus, I got to share the hat's history with him. Not a bad job, all in all.
Except for the spilling of the coffee down the front of the sweater as heading out the door. Good thing for the Garanimals.
I have just showered and grimaced at my face in the mirror and am now glaring at the contents in my closet, mulling over what basic pair of pants (does anything not need a bit of a press?) to pull on with which basic sweater. Garanimals for adults.
Charles (dashing in, wearing parka, with car keys in hand): "Oh, Colin needs to dress like a farmer today for school. He was upset about what to wear last night. See you tonight. Love you!"
Me (having gotten home at 10pm last night from late meeting): "....????!!!!!"
OK, time for mommy magic. Pull a farmer outfit from your hat. Farmers. Hmmmm. No bib overalls. No flannel. No suspenders. No work boots. Looking grim. Glare at Colin's closet, glare at his shirt drawer, glare at my closet, glare at Charles' closet. Wash, rinse, repeat.
20 min later, I am dressed in Diana-wear, have found a pair of his jeans with a rip in the knee (Colin's idea of farmer leg wear), a henley shirt slightly bigger than him (bought on sale for him to grow into), a red broadcloth shirt of mine (massively big but not as big as the denim shirt of Charles') and, best of best, my dad's old red felt hat that he used to wear when working one summer or so watching for forrest fires as a college kid.
No, he doesn't look much like a farmer but he looks like something. Put him with a bunch of other kindergarteners and he will blend. Plus, I got to share the hat's history with him. Not a bad job, all in all.
Except for the spilling of the coffee down the front of the sweater as heading out the door. Good thing for the Garanimals.
Labels: The Small-Handed Ones
posted by Diana at 10:11 AM
1 Comments:
Great balls of fire. Do they not give parents any notice on that sort of crep?
My kids are screwed because I am so NOT creative when it comes to stuff like that.
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