Almost every morning Jill argues about her clothing. I have screamed. I have yelled. I have let her go school in her pajama top. I have changed her socks twelve times in one morning. I have refused to help her get dressed. I have grounded her from friends. I have locked her in a cage and headed out to the bar at 8am.....oh, wait, no. That part was just a glorious fantasy. In any case, every morning without fail, she finds something wrong with her clothes.
We struck a deal last week. Don't tell me. I don't want to know. Just fix whatever is the problem. I will not make her change. I will not worry if she goes to school looking like Orphan Annie on crack. I will cringe, pop a happy pill, and smile as if nothing is wrong.
This morning thirty minutes before the bus, Jill is dressed in a green polo, white jean skirt (complete with white shorts underneath to hide her panties), white tennis shoes, hair up in white bow. Perfect. No complaints. I think we might make it one day without an argument. I am delusional. Clearly.
At precisely 7:30, we head to the bus stop.
"These shorts under my skirt are itching me."
"Lalalalalalaaaa. I don't want to hear it." I plug my fingers in my ears.
"Mommy. Really. They are itchy. I want to take them off."
"Jill they are cotton with no tags. They can't possibly be itchy. And I don't care. Don't tell me. You should have solved this problem earlier."
She closes her mouth, and walks to the bus stop. Victory? Did that really just work? Maybe my lesson in solving her own problems is finally sinking in! Maybe she has realized that she should have solved this earlier herself. Maybe for once she is not going to argue with me. I join the mommies with a proud, goofy grin on my face. I am the best mommy around. I should win some award.
Then the snickering starts. First one mommy, then all of the mommies. I turn around, slowly. Jill shimmies out of her shorts, without managing to hike up her skirt. She kicks the shorts off her left leg, catching the shorts mid flight. Spinning in a circle, and twirling the shorts over her head, she expertly flings the shorts at me.
"Solved it," she says with a smirk on her face.