At night, while brushing my teeth, I call downstairs to Chip.
“Check the weather before you come up!”
I need to know the forecast so I can figure out the next day’s outfit while I drift off to sleep. I wake up in the morning and realize I fell asleep too quickly, before developing a clear plan. I look through the closet, rejecting anything that requires me to shave my legs, nixing anything sleeveless (it’s not quite time- I’ll give it a few more weeks) and finally deciding on something I don’t like. I iron it and move on.
While Connor finishes up breakfast, I ask if I can go lay out some clothes for him, to help the morning move along more smoothly. “Sure!” he says brightly. I know he won’t wear what I choose, but I go upstairs to choose it nonetheless. While digging through his closet, I hear screams coming from Chloe’s room, where her hapless father is attempting to dress her.
“I don’t want it. IDOWANIT!!!!”
It seems Chip is attempting to put her in a Rock n Romp t-shirt and one of those toddler skirts that has built-in shorts (but isn’t quite a skort). “She’s weird about those RnR t-shirts,” I explain. “I’ll take care of this.” We go into her closet, where she immediately picks out a new sleeveless dress. I break the sleeveless news to her. She picks a different dress and stomps off happily, content to run around in just her undies until the dress is finally forced onto her frame at the last possible minute.
Connor is upstairs at this point, eyeing the navy blue pants and green ringer tee (with navy blue rings) that I have picked out. He doesn’t want that shirt, he wants one that is the same color as the pants but with gray rings. (He has lots of ringer tees.) Once I point out how that shirt doesn’t really go with those pants, the rejection of my wardrobe choices becomes complete. “Camouflage pants!” he exclaims excitedly. Who am I to argue?
I go to put on shoes, and realize that those heels are too high for these pants. It’s too late to change the pants- it’s already 7:35 and there’s no time to iron a different pair. While I frantically try on several different shoes, Chip offers up some standard male wisdom.
“What’s the deal? All those shoes are black- they all look fine.”
I put on a pair that I don’t like, the perfect accessory for an outfit I don’t like, and head towards the car. Chip, in boxers and an undershirt, opens the door to help us outside. “Dude,” I say, nodding towards his state of undress. “We’ve got a fence!” he counters. He stands in the driveway waving as the three of us drive off, confined by our apparel and dreaming of running around the backyard in our skivvies. We take some comfort in the knowledge that he'll be in a suit soon enough.
I get to work and check the next day's forecast. It's never too early to think about tomorrow.
School Stories: Missing Class
6 years ago
6 comments:
I was just having a discussion about the general clothing crisis: how I've pulled down the warm weather clothes from the attic but I just don't like them or they don't fit and they end up in a pile of shame on the floor of my closet; how I keep telling myself not to wear these pants, yet I do not throw them out; how I am having to put up with the day's shoe choice because (same as you) I can't wear heels with these pants; how maybe a little sweater would look sweet and feel good on this rainy day, but I do not own such a sweater. Clothes are hard, but they are so worth it.
the monkeys are officially sleeping in the shorts and t-shirts that they plan to wear the next day.
it is heavenly.
Every time we make the closet switch from cold weather clothes to warm weather clothes (or vice versa), I am alarmed to discover that in my organizational frenzy last October (or April, as the case may be), I discarded practically all of my clothes. All that is in my pathetic little storage bin from Target are three shirts, two skirts and one pair of pants that makes me feel short and fat. I officially hate all clothes. Pajamas rule.
When I first moved to South Florida, I used to say, "I miss the change of seasons." But I really don't. I wear the same wardrobe year-round. Sure, some shirt colors dictate whether or not they will be worn in the winter. I won't wear my cream shirt with little blue flowers in the "winter", and I won't wear my short-sleeved argyle sweater in the summer. But there is certainly no packing one wardrobe up for another. The unfortunate side effect of never needing a winter wardrobe is that I noticed Keith and I have on the same sweaters in every Thanksgiving picture year after year, as that is the only time we travel to colder parts.
Fortunately, for me right now getting dressed is a matter of what fits. I am so no looking forward to the day when Charlie discovers he has a choice in his wardrobe.
The morning dressing of the pre-schooler is the very bane of my existence. Even with the complete surrender of my theories on which pinks can go together, it is still a daily disaster. Summer at least requires fewer clothes to force on her, but my stress level is higher based on how much I hate every piece of my warm weather wardrobe.
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