Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde Gets Ready for School

IMG_4071My daughter seems to be suffering from a personality disorder when it comes to getting ready for school. It rears its ugly head in the morning, and, hopefully (fingers double crossed), is not an indication of what her teen years will bring.

Every morning with her is an ordeal. Gone is my easy going child, lost in a moment of temporary insanity, triggered by what to wear to school. With my boys, it’s easy, one grabs the first thing he sees in his drawers and he’s done. If he’s worn it fifty million times already, and it’s ratty, well even better. I actually have to bury clothes in drawers, especially on weeks when I’m on top of my laundry, because it doesn’t matter if it’s the same shirt he wore two days ago, or shorts, when it’s a mere forty degrees out, he looks no further than the top.  If I protest or show him nicer options he insists, he won’t be cold, he doesn’t care, he’s ready. I said it was easy, I didn’t say it was always pretty. But everyday, that boy is dressed and ready, and the first one down at the bus stop. He likes to win. My older son, he’d be happy if I just laid out an outfit for him (which I don’t), as long as it’s polyester (who knew polyester would make such a comeback) and has an elastic waist, he’s good to go.

Little Lady, though, she’s a nightmare.  First of all, she has no sense of urgency when it comes to school. Mornings, these days, are for sitting on the couch with her reindeer antlers on, watching tv, not getting ready for school. That’s for losers.  When I finally do get her fed and upstairs, the drama only escalates.  Yesterday, in an effort to get her the hell out of the house  get her to school on time, in a somewhat appropriate outfit, I laid out two choices for her on her bed, right down to the socks and underwear, and told her to get dressed. Of the clothes that I picked out, the only item she decided to wear was the navy blue underwear. I know this because they were clearly visible through her too tight pink stretch pants, that were not even partially covered by her short-sleeved, waist length t-shirt. She was also barefoot.

Listen, I’m not one to get all crazy about what my daughter wears to school (see middle child), but I do have some boundaries, ill-fitting clothes, with the crotch halfway down the thigh because they don’t fit, with underwear clearly visible underneath are a deal breaker. “Oh, no,” I said, “you have to change. I can see your underwear through your pants.”

“I’m not changing!” she yelled back with the smugness of a teenager.

For goodness sakes, just two days ago, on a trip to Target, she was obsessed with wrapping her sweatshirt around her waist because she had a tiny hole in the butt of her stretch pants. Yesterday, she was ready to bear her heart patterned, navy blue underwear to the world.

She eventually changed, with much to do, stomping out of the house, declaring, rather rudely, I might add, that she only likes dresses. “Don’t you know that [moron]!”

So, today, I laid out a cute little dress on her bed. When I finally got her upstairs, she said, “I’m not wearing that! Why do I have to wear a dress?!”

Say what? I started to revisit yesterday’s conversation with her, but quickly realized the futility of trying to reason with a crazy person, and instead, threw some stretch pants, a shirt long enough to cover her butt and socks at her, and left her to get dressed.

She came down without the socks.

Of course.

“You forgot your socks,” I said.

“Then why don’t you go get them!” she countered. Holy sass!

“No,” I said, “go upstairs and put your socks on.”

“I’m not wearing socks! I HATE socks!”

Pray for me people.

She eventually got those socks on and good thing she did, because that’s how she left the house, in socks, with no time to get her sneakers on, until we were parked down at the bus stop, bus on its way. Let’s hope this phase is short-lived.

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