Wardobe Wars

15 Mar

8.00 am.  I get woken up in the usual manner.  Two little tassel heads are crawling over my legs, grabbing me by the soft flesh of the knees to pull themselves up on my bed. Coffee? Who needs it?  I get an unexpected elbow to the bladder , which trust me, nothing jumps starts your adrenaline system faster than that. Having given birth twice after the age of 40, bladder control is something I  give praise to God for, on a daily basis.  The girls have now mounted my drowsy carcass and are giggling,  jumping up and down happily, testing the strength of my pelvic floor, once again.  It takes two juicy wet kisses on my unfastened, drooling mouth before they start:

“Mommy, I want ice pop! Give it to me” the little one coos.

“Mommy what dress am I GOING to WEAR?? ” the big demands.

Jesus, it’s too early.  Did I say it was early?  LATE.  We are late – loathsome daylight savings time started yesterday and we are not adjusting well.   The big one needs to be at school in 45 minutes, which means we need to leave in 30.  I cringe, knowing that wardrobe wars are about to begin.

“Mooooooooommy!!  Get me my dress!”   I open one bleary, sleepy eye and shoot her the “Mind your manners” stink eye.  “Please! ” she pleads.

I swing my legs out and wearily climb off the bed, wondering why I can pass out as soon as my head hits the pillow,  get a 7 full hours of sleep and still feel like a refugee from the depths of hell.   The old gray mare just aint what she used to be, I suppose.  My back hurts, I look over at the bed and notice I’ve been sleeping on a 2 inch plastic Polly Pocket doll all night.  That explains a lot.

“MOMMY! Lets get my dress.  Please. ” she is tugging on my nightgown now.

“Ok, ok, let Mommy go tinkle first, and then we will get dressed. ”  What I really want to say is, “Let mommy down 6 or 7 shots of Jaegermeister and a Valium”  because i know that is the only way I’d ever be able to get thru wardrobe wars with out bloodshed (mine).

Wardrobe Wars started about 2 months ago, around the commencement of her boy crazy stage.  It goes down as follows: We pick out an outfit. hair accessories, bracelets, socks, tights, shoes etc.  She puts it on, wears it for 10 minutes and declares she hates it. We go thru the arduous ritual of chosing another round of clothing and adornments.  She dresses, and 10 minutes later it itches, or is the wrong color, or is too tight, and we select yet another ensemble.  The cycle repeats itself 5 or 6 times until she is crying, and so am I.

I know its my fault, really I do.  I loved being a mom to my son Ryan, (now age 19 ) but for years I had dreams of buying bales of pink gingham and skeins of antique lace.  As Hubs likes to point out, I was meant to mother girls.  My lovely stepdaughter was 7 when I acquired her thru marriage.  Although I was fortunate enough to mother her full-time, she had her own ideas about fashion by then, and sadly, they did not include gingham, lace, and long flowing ponytails.

You can imagine my excitement when 15 years after the birth of my son, I found out I was gestating a girl!  15 years worth of blushing hair ribbons, rose-colored toile, and satiny cabbage roses flooded my brain.  Despite my current military-like devotion to a maternal uniform of walmart quality sweat-pants, I was once a true girly girl.  A trendy clothes horse who never once missed a Macy’s one day sale.  In the far away land that was Christineville, B.C. (before childbirth) I had closet cascading with beautiful designer garments and an assortment of accessories that could make Imelda Marcos weep.   It may be hard to belive but, I wasnt always  a fat ass, in a low rent track suit smeared with desitin.  Having a baby daughter ramped my retail mojo up to 10.  No holding back.  Baby Darla has more pink frilly outfits, tutus and petticoats, ribbons and lace than any child I know.  She was a pinkalicious rock star, in a ruffle butt diaper cover.  When her baby sister Delilah came along, there were various rose, pink, coral, and lavender sister outfits, to match.  To this day, their closets runneth over.   I get my retail jones from pink lacy clothes and as a result, I’ve created a ponytailed  monster (in a tutu) and I know it.

“Mommy, my dress?”  she pleads impatiently, snapping me back to reality.

We parade our pajamaed selves down the hallway, back to her room. (Can you guess what color it is? ) I know time is of the essence here, being that we have to eat, dress, groom, slap everyone in the car seat  and leave in 25 condensed minutes.  Her current fashion stage is early american sparkles, the gaudier the better.  I pick out a sequin adorned lavender little number that i deem worthy of  the queen’s approval, but she vetos it right away. ” Here ye here ye, the Queen is repelled by purple today.”  I sigh.  I suggest a lovely carnation colored polka dot attire, but that is shot down faster than a clay pigeon at a redneck BBQ.  I offer up 5 or 6 more suggestions, and finally walk away stifling an urge to crawl back in bed.   “You pick” I tell her, and leave the room to go see what the little one is up to.

The little one is standing, full diaper, in the powder with her “poop” face on.  She has got her hard core concentration face on. My girl is serious. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was amongst the world’s great mathematical geniuses  discussing the relevance of the Pythagorean therorum, that is how keen her concentration is.  In fact,  I do know better. I know that face, and she is taking a dump.  One of these days I’ll actually get her on the potty, and not just standing next to it in her diaper, I vow silently.  I leave her in privacy,  trudge into the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee.  “Gosh, some Bailey’s would hit the spot right now”  I lament.

The little one comes out of the bathroom and announces she is  “all done.”   We walk back into the potty and I strip her of her diaper.  (Here comes the TMI)  It’s a doosie.  Did I mention the little one is a foodie?  Well, its more like a fruitie, because she will consume more fruit than a pack of hungry monkeys  at a banana convention. A certain “someone”  (ok, it was Hubs) apparently gave her one too many oranges, and this was reflective in the quality and quantity out the output.  As soon as I take the diaper off,  she leans against the wall.  “Lilah, noooooo”  I cry, puling her by the arm, away from the wall.  I can’t help but notice the delightful butt print of feces she left in her wake.  Two chunky little tush cheek impressions made out of doo-doo…..just the decorator touch I’ve been looking for, in this boring powder room!  I groan, get on my knees and reach for the Lysol wipes under the sink.  Lilah take this opportunity as her cue to exit, and takes off running, bits and pieces of yesterdays oranges falling from her heiney, in her path.  I’ve always wished for a fairytale life, and now i have it:  The turd version of  Hansel and Gretel! Oh joy!  One more thing to clean up before we have to leave in…..(I peak my head out the bathroom door)…..6 minutes.  “Shite shite shite” I mutter, realizing the irony of my choice of words.  Suddenly the big one rounds the corner and comes running in, slamming into me. I am still on my knees cleaning up turds bread crumbs, and she hits me hard.  I lose balance and slam into the wall.  Yup, you guessed it, right into the newly decorated Pop Art (poop art) the little one left me.  Just call me “stinky shoulder”, my friends.  Now I am really wishing that I could put that Bailey’s in my coffee.

I look up and notice the big one is completely mismatched. brown and pink paisley dress, yellow, green and purple floral leggings, topped off with a mini mouse looking red and white headband.  She is grinning from ear to ear.

“I found the PERFECT outfit, Mommy, dont I look great?”  She si so confident and proud of her fashion sense.  Move over Donatella Versace.

“Honey, you look FABULOUS”  I reply, praying that the little ones craftmanship with the turd of the day did not get in my hair.

“Who do I look like? ” she asks spinning around. She is waiting for me to say someone famous, someone she admires, someone with couture de jour.

“Well…… you look like Malibu Barbie, ”  Malibu Helen Keller was more like it.

“No you silly goof. I look Just. Like. YOU.”

Looking down at my plaid nightgown, striped socks, and polka dot slippers, I realized she was right.  Like mother, like daughter, I thought.  “You know what, sweetie, you do. ”  I replied.

And I love her for it.

Yes, I let her wear it to school, yes, we made it on time, and yes, I got the turd stain off my threads.  Success!

Thank you for reading!

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29 Responses to “Wardobe Wars”

  1. Kahla March 15, 2011 at 10:26 am #

    Never a dull moment girl! Remember how hard we worked for these kids… wouldn’t have them any other way! Just wait until they have kids, they are so in for it. ;o)

    • livelaughloveliquor March 17, 2011 at 11:02 am #

      So true Kahla. and I think by the time our girls are teens we will need to form some sort of prayer group for mothers with daughters! LOL

  2. josie March 15, 2011 at 10:27 am #

    My now 6 year old sealed her catholic school, uniform wearing fate when she was 4 years old! One day, getting ready for preschool she said to me(in tears), “I have to find shoes my boyfriend will like!”

    • livelaughloveliquor March 17, 2011 at 11:04 am #

      LOL, if its not the clothes, its the shoes! i was envying private school kids because of the uniform, but i guess you do have the ribbons and shoes to contend with too….sigh!

  3. lifeintheboomerlane March 15, 2011 at 10:33 am #

    So cute. Why don’t I remember wardrobe wars? My boys were oblivious to what they wore (the younger one, age 30 still is) and my daughter was happy with everything. They save all their drama for each other.

    • livelaughloveliquor March 17, 2011 at 11:04 am #

      lucky, lucky lucky! Although I know the saving drama for each other part is no picnic either~

  4. Allison March 15, 2011 at 10:40 am #

    Brava, as always! I just love you more every day, you fabulous woman!

  5. Jeff March 15, 2011 at 11:14 am #

    Hey Christine, Another wonderful post! Made my day! “Poop Art” LOL

  6. Mona March 15, 2011 at 11:16 am #

    HILARIOUS!! So glad I’m not rushing around this year to get out of the house. I can soooo relate to the wardrobe wars. I think we are late everywhere we go. Glad you got out on time.

    • livelaughloveliquor March 17, 2011 at 11:07 am #

      I seriously have to budget 15 minutes extra into everything we do, or I am screwed, Mona!

  7. Jeannetta Vivere March 15, 2011 at 11:46 am #

    My granddaughter refuses to wear anything that doesn’t pass the swirl test. She puts it on, spins than tells me no Nana I don’t like that, see? spins again….
    oh and this includes nightgowns !

    love the story, thanks !!

    • livelaughloveliquor March 17, 2011 at 11:08 am #

      Ahhh, yes, the swirl test. i know it well. My mom found pajamas that said “I live to twirl’ – so fitting!

  8. Tracie Waller March 15, 2011 at 12:37 pm #

    Love it! You make me laugh every time and I’m so thankful I only have 1 girl… BTW she’s 7 and we still have wardrobe wars every day.. And I was told I don’t know her style… lol

    • livelaughloveliquor March 17, 2011 at 11:09 am #

      How funny is that, you dont know her style? I dont remember thvaing all these choices it was grananimals or tough skins in my house! LOL

  9. cam March 15, 2011 at 1:03 pm #

    Very funny as usual! Had trouble picking my favorite line, but I think I’ll go with “shot down faster than a clay pigeon at a redneck BBQ”

    • livelaughloveliquor March 17, 2011 at 11:10 am #

      Thanks Cam. belive it or not, Jersey does have some rednecks, and yes, i’ve been to a BBQ or two, LOL

  10. thedailydish March 15, 2011 at 3:06 pm #

    “The old gray mare just aint what she used to be”

    LOL!!!!!!

    From that sentence on it was cackles all the way. I LOVE YOU. And I love that you let her wear the outfit. But I love the most that you put up with this day in & out. My younger one is also the fashionista and we go through a similar, though less entailed process daily too. I have taken it upon myself to “switch” over to the persona I invented a year ago for just the occasion. I am called “Personal Assistant Christy” complete w. French accent. Georgia LOVES IT!! And it helps soothe the dress angst – frankly that is all that matters.

    XOXOXO~!

    • livelaughloveliquor March 17, 2011 at 11:11 am #

      O……M……..G!! too funny. i love the French accent. Did she see the “Barbie’s fashion Fairytale” yet? its all about fashion, and set in France! i have to warn you though, its pro-sparkle, so view at your own risk!!

  11. Michelle T March 15, 2011 at 3:38 pm #

    I have to agree with the first statement said by “thedailydish”!

    I have been waiting for you to post and so happy you did! I thought for sure it would be Thursday! Wish you would do a daily one ❤

    • livelaughloveliquor March 17, 2011 at 11:12 am #

      Thanks, love. If I didint have to ponytailed monkeys on my back, i write every day!! i sooo wish I could!

  12. DanielleC March 15, 2011 at 9:26 pm #

    Thanks so much for the laugh, Christine. I really needed that!!! You have the patience of a saint!!! I go through sort of the same thing with my Lila, although not quite as bad. AND I went through it with Ryan as well never met a 2-year-old boy who cared so much what he wore!!!

    • livelaughloveliquor March 17, 2011 at 11:14 am #

      Its sooo frustrating! My Ryan (how funny is it we both have Lila/Lilahs and Ryans? ) insisted on wearing a tie to school for his entire KG year. It was a clip on, and sometimes he wore it with a T shirt, but he sure as shootin had that tie on every single day! LOL

  13. meleah rebeccah March 16, 2011 at 3:07 pm #

    I cannot stop laughing at this sentence:

    “Let mommy down 6 or 7 shots of Jaegermeister and a Valium”

    And I’ve never been SO happy to be raising a SON, and NOT daughters!

  14. happykidshappymom March 17, 2011 at 11:39 pm #

    Your daughter saying she looked just like you — I’m still laughing! Love it. Perfect.

    Not that any of us have the time, or desire, or the ability — but a friend of mine who talked to a physical therapist about bladder issues after childbirth was told that the best way to regain control over your bladder is to do lower-abdomen exercises. Specifically one where you lie on the floor on your back, raise your legs bending your knees, and then do a reverse sit-up, where you lift the lower part of your body a few inches off the floor.

    Anyway, thanks again for the laugh!

  15. ryekatcher March 18, 2011 at 7:29 am #

    OMG YOU KILL ME! I am not sure how u do it, but I am pretty certain that it is because I see myself sitting through your scenarios as if it’s my own. You make me laugh my butt off. Anyhow, I am happy with the boys at the moment. I would do the same things to daughters and at this time, I just can’t afford it… 🙂 Malibu coconut rum in hot chocolate- try it.

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