I feel that my girl may have inherited my taste in clothes: wear what keeps me warm/cool enough, makes me happy, and not give two flying flips for what the rest of the world is wearing right now.
In some ways it's a good thing. Back in school my hair was stick-straight and "totally lame." The other girls were poofing their bangs 3-5 inches off the top of their heads. No joke.
Me? Did. Not. Care. Who has time for that? Besides, hair spray is flammable and I like to play with campfires...
So now, I see my girl, wearing a skirt, a pinafore, an owl hat, and leggings. Most of the day she stomped around in one boot, because that's the only one she found. She picked it all out herself. And she was happy.
It reminds me to not let my feathers get ruffled. Wear the clothes I love. Knit in public. Play outside. Ignore the TV.
There are so many things I want to get done. But some days/weeks/seasons I'm just doing well if I get the dishes done and the food cooked. If I give out hugs and read stories and let someone paint something. If I ignore the checklist and get all of us outside.
Maybe I should get a picture of my daughter in her craziest get-up, with her wildest hair, and pin it up right next to my checklist? After all, thy checklist thou shalt always have, but days with thine littles shalt pass swiftly. Waste it not on ruffled feathers...
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