How many sit-ups can YOU do in a minute?

One of daughter's goals at school, related to her physical fitness, is to be able to complete 28 sit-ups in one minute. A few years ago, daughter and her afterschool caretaker, Aleeeesah (Alee for short), were sit-up fiends. Alee went drill-sergeant on the girl, worthy of her own abs of steel workout video.

The combination of Alee leaving for college (tear!) and daughter developing a more womanly body caused a noticeable decline in her sit-up abilities. In an attempt to get her numbers back up, daughter is on a new sit-up plan with SpahrMom. I was a bit skeptical when SpahrMom reported daughter can only do six sit-ups in a row.

In an evil mom-move, Husband, Teenager and I entrapped her. As sweet as honey, I asked daughter to show Teenager and Husband and I how well she could do sit-ups! I told her we were going to time her, and even video-tape her with her phone (as proof for SpahrMom :-). In an amazing feat of strength, Daughter did 20 sit-ups in a minute.

We all congratulated her (just before we gave her the stern speech of working hard ALL the time). Then, without thinking, I said to Daughter, "Keep working hard. Maybe you can get to 30 sit-ups in a minute. I don't think anyone in this room can do 30 sit-ups in a minute."

As soon as Daughter left, Husband and Teenager howled with indignation. I tried to correct myself, that I meant it would be hard, but they wouldn't let it go. Apparently there is a big discrepancy between something being a challenge and something being impossible. So we had our own mini sit-up competition.

I was amazed at the pain that set in at about 12. I now entirely empathize with Daughter, who pushed through to her 20. Despite Husband's encouragement, I just couldn't make myself finish. I laid there on the ground, laughing and crying intermittently, for the longest and shortest minute of my life.

Teenager finished with 36, Husband did 30 in 53 seconds (he quit after he hit the goal), and I did a whopping 26. Apparently I need some Alee just as much as Daughter!


border="0" alt="Hit Counters">

Web Site Hit Counters

The End of 2010

Daughter and I began cleaning her room this evening. And it was AWESOME. For the first time, without any extra effort on my part, Daughter and I connected. It was a mom holding up items and a daughter saying either "Yes, keep;" "For the children;" (donate box) or "Trash." We laughed a lot (Daughter has such a fun personality), and we cried a little (reading Daughter's late mother's will, where she wrote a personal note "I love [Daughter] so much. What would we have all done without her?").

Daughter, believing she is now "grown up" and "almost 17" is more willing than ever before to donate her gently used toys. At times, her "throw" attitude was a little disconcerting, and once or twice she expressed her sadness at giving some toys away. I reassured her that she didn't have to give anything away, but she said she was OK. I am really impressed with her maturity. She knows she is ready to part with "little kid" toys, she also knows she is a little sad, and she is willing to do it anyways. Wow.

And then, she told me she smelled popcorn. I can't smell anything because of my cold, but it made sense. It is now 10 p.m., so if Husband and Teenager were making popcorn, we deserved to be in on this! I sent her downstairs, while I rearranged a few more piles. I walked downstairs, and she was making microwave popcorn by herself. I stuck my head in the bedroom, where Husband was trying to ensure we entered 2011 with the checkbook balanced. I discovered there was no popcorn prior to Daughter's batch. That goofy girl. We had a quick chat about not lying to get popcorn, and then sat down to watch iCarly.

Happy New Year! To many more like memories!

Gleeful *Spoiler Alert!* & Small Group

Tonight Daughter and I watched last night's Glee off of the Internet. I was very excited, having not seen it yet. The show comes on and Daughter says, "Father." I say yes, that's his father. She looks at me and says, "He dies."

Great. Apparently Daughter saw the show last night.

Surprisingly, the father didn't die after all. I did my share of crying anyways. When Sue talks about her sister with Down syndrome, and how she used to pray every night that God would make her sister better, I started bawling. Daughter, not understanding why I'm crying (or maybe totally understanding), runs over to me and says "It's OK mother! Shhhh. It's OK!" (Click here to see some footage, to a song, of Sue, her sister, and Becky)

It is really neat to be able to see Down syndrome portrayed in such a cool way in prime time. I have a lot of Sue in me. Over the past few months I have been having a lot of growth in how I view Daughter, and her contributions to society. She has an amazing gift for touching hearts. Tonight, she again had a "Super Prayer," where she is so excited about what she is saying that she can barely contain all her job. I began to pray like her, to tease her, but as I continued I began to feel happier. Try it sometime. Drop the "holy voice," and belt out every word! Laugh and smile and burst with joy as you talk to God.

On another note, tonight I went to Small Group with KatWoman, ShowGirl, and HotNurse. We've been meeting for three weeks, and tonight was really fun. We laughed until we cried! It's great to meet with real women who allow you to share your heart.


border="0" alt="Hit Counters">

Web Site Hit Counters

Sunday Sighs

My typical weekend goes like this: Friday FUNday! Saturday still Fun! Sunday STINKS like the dead animal your dog puked up onto your bedroom floor. (But that's another story)

I like to leave all my stress for Sunday. Throughout Saturday night my brain begins to subconsciously buzz with the to-do lists, and I awake Sunday morning a vicious bear. Husband and Daughter flee my wrath.

Well, Husband is smart enough to flee my wrath. But in his efforts to protect himself, he leaves Daughter behind, who like a lamb to the slaughter asks me in her most perky happy voice, "HI MOM! DID YOU SLEEP WELL? I'M HAPPY!"

SIGH.

With every muscle in my body tense I rush past her to the bathroom. No fatalities before church.

Our church has a breakfast cafe, and daughter grabs a napkin with a slice of banana bread. During the sermon she begins to eat it like a taco, trying to slurp the bread off of the napkin that is rolled around it. Crumbs are cascading out the end of the napkin. Even Husband notices, and gives her a nudge to adjust her feeding frenzy. She finishes the bread without incident, but I notice she has a piece of bread stuck on the inside of her leg.

I silently mime that she has something on her leg.

She thinks I'm telling her to close her legs, and smoooshes the bread between her thighs.

I give a look of exasperation and mime that she should open her legs and get rid of the bread.

She opens her legs, sees the smooshed bread ... and eats it.

My jaw dropped, and Husband is now silently shaking as he laughs at my distress.

SIGH.

Oh well. The most stressful day of the week is almost over...

Sex Ed & Daughter

Thursday was my evening to be home by 5 p.m. I was home at 6:15 p.m. I really really really wanted to sneak off to watch the volleyball game tonight. Instead, I followed my Quest 10 plan and stayed home.

And good thing, because tonight, Daughter asked about being pregnant. She was concerned that she was, or might be, pregnant. Being an ex-high school sex ed teacher, I remained calm. We went through some vocabulary, and besides repeatedly substituting "peanut" for the male anatomy, I think she understood the general idea. A google image search provides some helpful exhibits. Husband was a little concerned that our internet cookies now show us searching sex sites, but there are surprisingly many educational (interpret: non-porn) websites and images out there.

When I asked her if she had encountered any, er, peanuts lately, she said no, so I'm pretty sure we don't have to worry about a nine-month surprise.

I hope the Teenager is keeping his peanut in his pants...

The Morning After-After

Today was a GREAT daughter day! Your prayers are working. I was half awake on the couch, waiting for the bus to come. She brought me her planner to sign. I yelled sleepily for her to bring her moisturizing spray (for her psoriasis), and gave a start when she handed it to me immediately - she was one step ahead of me this morning! She then asked me, in sentence form, to please clip her hearing aids to her shirt. I just about fell off the couch.

She was a lovely, independent young woman today. And just like that, I am loving, joyful and encouraged!


border="0" alt="Hit Counters">

Web Site Hit Counters

Daughter - 1 Hearing Aids - 0

I am frustrated.

Daughter began wearing hearing aids a few years ago. The improvement in her hearing has been amazing! In late June or early July, she lost an ear mold. So she didn't have to wear her hearing aids for the rest of the summer.

At the doctor's office a few weeks ago, Daughter gasped when she heard me say she was getting new hearing aids. She apparently thought she was through with hearing aids forever. Oh dear.

She went through the hearing check, the doctor made new molds for her ears, and today we went and picked them up. While the assistant and I were fitting the molds in her ears and measuring the fit, Daughter was being a real pill. She put her hands over her ears, she made grumpy noises when we touched her ears, and she would angrily flip her hair back around her face when we moved it to put the hearing aids in. When the assistant tried to talk to her, she glowered and pouted.

Annoyance #1: I said to Daughter, stop being rude. The assistant says, "Oh, It's OK, she can be rude to me." I give her a look and said, "Would it be OK if your 16-year-old daughter was rude to someone?" She said, "Oh. No."

So I took my snotty, rude daughter out of the hearing aid office. She complained about it being too loud, but the audiologist assured me it wasn't. When the assistant asked, "Are they uncomfortable?" (Objection. Leading the witness) Daughter nodded her head pathetically. I rolled my eyes and said, I'm sure she just needs to get used to them again.

WHY DOES THE WORLD THINK THAT KIDS WITH DOWN SYNDROME ARE INCAPABLE OF MANIPULATION?

I call Husband in the car, and we both tell Daughter the importance of wearing her hearing aids all day. I get off the phone with Husband and she starts sobbing. Random person off the street would say, "Oh, look at that poor girl! Her mother must be abusing her by making her wear those painfully loud hearing aids!"

I say, "She's a normal teenager girl who has to wear hearing aids. She's like a teenage girl who just got a bad haircut. DO NOT ENCOURAGE HER MANIPULATION."

Annoyance #2: Written in Daughter's planner from school today "[Daughter] took off her aids, she said they were bothering her. I am sure not wearing to wearing them will take some time getting used to. She wore them about 2 hr total. She said the [sic] were to [sic] loud." [Smiley Face] ***

Well, Daughter, you won this round. I am irrationally upset about the whole situation. I am frustrated that she took them out after Husband and I told her to wear them all day. I am frustrated by the effectiveness of her teenage manipulation. I am frustrated because OF COURSE I don't want to traumatize her by making her wear hearing aids but they make such a significant difference in her hearing, speech and singing that she really DOES need to use them! I am most frustrated because IT IS VIRTUALLY IMPOSSIBLE TO CONVINCE HER THAT SHE DOESN'T HEAR, SPEAK, OR SING WELL WITHOUT THEM! She lacks the awareness to understand it!

There is no way to reason with Daughter. She does not believe there is any reason to wear them. So the only way she will wear them is by A) constant nagging, B) bribes, C) threat of punishment or D) she won't wear them.

Sigh. In this situation, we're all losers.

***I am not mad at the teacher. Based on the limited information she had, she made a good decision.


border="0" alt="Hit Counters">

Web Site Hit Counters

Breakfast Exploits

The bus comes for daughter around 7:30 a.m. For two years I would wake her up at 6 a.m. and then nag the entire time, "GO FAST! GO FAST!" Then the light bulb went off, and now I set her alarm for 5:30 a.m. and by the time she comes down at 6 a.m. we're all on the same, leisurely pace.

This morning at 6 a.m., there was no light on in the kitchen to signal daughter was awake and eating breakfast. I panicked and yelled, "Daughter! Where are you?"

"Right here Mama," she called from the kitchen.

I ran into the dark kitchen. She flipped on the light. "Where were you doing?" I asked.

"Playing." And after a few more questions I learned she had planned to eat breakfast by flashlight that morning.

One morning I walked by and her breakfast was a piece of toast, and 2 super-sized marshmallows. I should say, "attempted" breakfast because I nixed that idea immediately. Another day she was getting out the peanut butter so she could dip some of husband's trail mix into the peanut butter, to eat along with her toast. For her bag lunch one day she made herself a peanut butter and mustard sandwich. I was skeptical she would actually like it, and made her a half-sandwich and asked her to eat it. She did, and authentically liked it.

Her creativity is so wonderful, yet so... odd. Oh well - I was the child that ate mayonnaise sandwiches (until my parents put the kibosh on that...)

Thoughts

1. Yesterday was daughter's first day as a sophomore! It was strange to take the first day of school picture on the porch without the teenager. But, daughter looks so grown up. We are having some great Mother-Daughter moments in the morning. Today was a sad moment, when she needed a hug because she missed the teenager. Also, since daughter and I pack our lunches together in the morning, I have packed a lunch for two days straight!

2. Yesterday, between classes, I ran to the U of M to drop off 50+ mini-bags of puppy chow that husband and I prepared together for a sorority picnic (I'm on the alumni board). Teenager walked down and I gave him a bag filled with things, mostly food, that I forgot to bring Monday. I tried to be brief. Almost everyone I talk to has given me a mini-lecture about "letting him go," that I need to stop visiting him so often and communicating with him, etc. So I've made a pact with myself that I will not initiate contact so that he has his space. (But teenager, if you're reading this, I will respond when you contact me! I just can't initiate it!!!!)

3. Yesterday, I also got to spend some time with Hol-dog and her sister, B-dog. Hol-dog was one of my closest sorority sisters. We are kindred spirits. When we are together, we laugh until we cry. Her sister, B-dog, is a U of M upperclassmen who promised she would look out for the teenager. In light of my new pact, I am very thankful SOMEONE is looking out for him, even if it is the wild-and-crazy B-dog, who very well might introduce teenager to more trouble than if he was left to his own devices... (Just kidding B-dog!)

4. Today I was a reader for St. Thomas' Interfaith Blessing. I was honored to be asked, and read Phillipians 4:4-8.

5. I am really tired. I am currently a slave to my schedule. I need to start saying no or I'm going to burn out before the month is over!

Thoughts on Quest #4: Daughter Dare

I was tooling around on the internet and stumbled across the Down Syndrome Association of Minnesota. I found a bunch of very interesting articles that gave me a new perspective on daughter. This webpage about pace was very helpful, not only because it explained why daughter is the way she is sometimes, but because I felt I wasn't isolated in my frustrations.

After reading different articles on the page for a while, I realized that most of daughter's (for lack of a better words) bizarre behaviors are related to her unique way of coping with the world. She is intentionally slow at times because she is trying to cope with feeling overwhelmed. She talks to herself and her bouncy-ball toys because she lacks the internal monologue that I use when problem solving. She complains on vacation about missing school because she needs that routine for security.

Today while working on the scary room, I found husband's mother's will. Husband, daughter, and the teenager share the same mother, who passed away in 2001. Daughter was seven. In her will, the closing sentence was in reference to daughter, stating "I love her so much. What would we have all done without her?"

I feel a renewed sense of purpose in my motherhood of daughter. While I feel the teenager and I have had a good run, I fear I have not done well enough with daughter. To rephrase, the best days of our relationship are still ahead of us!


border="0" alt="Hit Counters">

Web Site Hit Counters

Day 10: End of Quest #4

Quest #4 was a rousing success. Daughter and I are on much better terms. The biggest improvement is my tone - instead of angry and frustrated demands, I'm making calm and patient requests. And tonight she sought me out, sat on the couch next to me, and began chattering away. I'm glad I left my pointless nagging in my 20's!

Other Quest updates: Although I had to run to catch the bus twice this week, I haven't missed it! In the morning, the key is to park at the far end of the lot and then run towards the bus... would you be able to drive away if you saw a grey SUV careen around the corner (after running the red turn arrow, but seriously if nobody is coming what is the point of sitting at a red turn arrow?), park on the farthest end of the lot, out hops a harried Asian girl with no makeup (in the purse) and slight limp as she runs in her businessware the 1/8 mile to the bus in such a fashion that if you drive forward you would run her over? No, you would not drive away, and neither have the bus drivers I have encountered.

Day 9: My Penelope

As the Daughter Dare winds down, I've become more aware of daughter's needs. I've been listening more, observing more... and I'm realizing that she is very anxious about her brother graduating and leaving her. She has a major need for friendly and loving physical contact. And she has a lot to say these days.

Tonight daughter requested to watch Penelope (she also wanted to find Penelope on Netflix herself, she did a very good job!). The psycho-analyst in me wonders if she likes watching Penelope because, somehow, she sees herself as the girl everyone judged but ended up living happily ever after with the boy in the end. I see myself in Penelope's mom - lovingly cruel in her desire to protect her daughter. When daughter talks about getting married someday, I struggle with what to tell her. Will she get married? Or should I say, will she find a boy, a man, who won't take advantage of her and will love her and respect her? Should I instead prepare her that maybe marriage isn't for her? Do I forever tell her that Someday, she'll get married?

Day 8: Glee!

Tonight daughter joined me on the couch to snuggle and watch Glee. It has been a LONG time... I can't remember the last time that we cuddled up to watch TV and just enjoyed each other's company. When we're all snuggled up, and daughter begins to sing along with the Journey medley, it doesn't sting when I gently shake my head and ask her to listen to the TV. And when the show finishes with Over the Rainbow, I overrule my initial decree of no singing by joining in with daughter (hey, at least she knows the words to this one)! I've also noticed that my patience with daughter extends to increased patience generally. Try the Daughter Dare - you'll be surprised how quickly the benefits outweigh minor frustrations!

Day 7: Hair Hair Everywhere

This quest is worth its weight in gold. Many tension-filled moments have been replaced with happy conversations or acts of affection. And today, when the moment arose when some intervention was needed, I was able to act both calmly, and relatively guilt-free.

Daughter has pretty blond hair cut a few inches below the shoulders. A problem that has developed is her "flapping" technique of pulling her fingers through her hair and then flipping it over her shoulder. Flapping means she does it compulsively, almost obsessively at times. It isn't your typical nervous habit.

While doing some online research so I could better explain flapping, I came across an article that leads me to think daughter has some autism tendencies. And it also reinforces the importance of reducing flapping behaviors. When daughter first came to live with us, she had an elastic band that she flapped almost constantly. Mean mommy that I am, the elastic bands disappeared. Daughter has made significant improvements in the past five years, perhaps due in part to reducing the amount of time spent flapping and increasing her interpersonal interactions.

Anyways, this evening I gave daughter my kind, non-nagging prompt to stop playing with her hair. And when she did it again, I kindly directed her to bring me a hair binder and I french braided her hair. I was sure to tell her how cute she looked, and how tomorrow it would be wavy, and that if she didn't want it braided she needed to try not to play with her hair. Daughter was visibly unhappy about the braid, but when she was praised later in the evening for handling the situation maturely she proudly said she was grown up. If I had shamed her for hair flapping (my more typical and natural reaction), I am pretty sure the story would lack a happy ending.

Oh Daughter Dare, You are Changing my Life!

Day 6: Make a Joyful Noise

One thing about daughter is that she loves to sing. Choirfriend has mainstreamed daughter with the high school choir, daughter loves praise and worship at church, and she sings along with Hannah Montana nonstop.

She is at a moment in her singing career that I, too, remember having. It was the day that I thought I could sing along with any song, even if I didn't know the words, because I was SUCH a good singer I could simply hear the word and then sing it and nobody was the wiser.

My loving father put an end to that ("Let's just listen to the tape!"). And while I kind of understood why then, I TOTALLY understand now.

Perhaps you, too, have been around a singer who obviously has no idea what the words are, but sings along anyways. And I admit, in the privacy of my car, I still often belt out the wrong words ("Se-cret Asian Man! Se-cret Asian Man!"). I don't have a solution for every moment, but I found out on Sunday that one way to reduce Sunday-morning singing-stress is to sit next to the speakers.

(And yes, the family found this out because we were a little late getting into church. But that's another quest).

Day 5: Laundromat and the Flashback Puke Story

Five years ago, when I was a new mom, I first realized why one would ever go to a laundromat.

The details are kind of fuzzy. I think daughter came downstairs with puke all over herself. I had never been responsible for cleaning up another human's puke before, and I was grossed out to say the least. I think I stuck her in the shower (fully clothed) while I went upstairs to find clean clothes. Or perhaps teenager was the one puking first, and then daughter puked in sympathy.

Either way, I remember walking upstairs, gagging at the smell, and hearing a child's retching fill my ears as I ran back downstairs to implore husband to take care of the puke-filled bedding. (Seriously, BOTH of them on the SAME day? They couldn't initiate me slowly?). Yes, I am ashamed I couldn't courageously stand my ground. An auditorium full of people hearing me speak is no problem; jumping off of a cliff into a river in Belize is cake. But battling the puke smell before coffee? Husband is the only one strong enough to take that on.

I think husband had to put the bedding in the washer because 1) every time I got a whiff I started gagging and 2) I was busy in the bathroom hosing off daughter. What I do remember is pulling teenager's comforter out of our washer and reeling in horror as I realized there were still puke-chunks and stains attached. Apparently, there wasn't enough room for the stupid thing to agitate in the washer. Now I had wet puke on a blanket. Great.

I was ready to throw them away and start over. I don't remember who told me to go to the laundromat, but I took their advice, and low and behold, the HUGE washer and dryer did the trick. Which made me think about my own bedding... it became clear to me that I wasn't actually washing my own comforter in my machine, I was simply getting it wet.

This long intro concludes with the following daughter dare moment: I sent daughter upstairs to get dressed because we were going to the laundromat. I got ready, and yelled up the stairs to see if she was ready. She said no, she was still getting dressed. Hmmm, she has been upstairs for about twenty minutes. I walk up to her room, knocked, and there she is with only a new shirt on. I asked what she had been doing, and she pointed to her ball.

Oh my word she has been playing up here for the past twenty minutes after I SPECIFICALLY told her to get ready.

Five days ago, I would have given her quite a scolding. Today, I swallowed the aggravation, told her we needed to get to the laundromat, and asked her to hurry. And amazingly, it's OK. At the end of the day, the loss of the ten minutes it took her to get herself back downstairs has not affected me at all. Yes Michelle, this quest is making me realize how great life could be if I just stopped nagging the poor girl.


border="0" alt="Hit Counters">

Web Site Hit Counters

Day 4: Towels and Dog Hair

Daughter is doing pretty good. She wore a very trendy jean and and pink Viking-jersey combo. I did ask her to try again with her elastic headband (that doesn't count as nagging, if you ask once in a really nice voice).

The Daughter Dare Moment occurred within the context of laundry. Daughter had clothes in the washer that needed to be put in the dryer. I had towels in the dryer. I asked daughter to go to the basement and change her clothes over. When she came back upstairs, I asked her where the towels were and she replied downstairs. I asked her, where downstairs and she said the dryer.

I realized I was wasting time and patience so we went downstairs together to investigate.

She, like a pro, had placed them in an empty basket. I then asked her to take them upstairs and fold them while I proceeded to get ready for the day. As I was finishing up in the bathroom, I had this image of daughter folding the clean towels on the carpet... its been a week since the last vacuuming... nothing like getting out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a "clean" towel only to find yourself plastered with a million, inch-long black hairs...

I rush out of the bathroom to tell daughter to fold the towels on the bed or couch or table... but there lie the towels, folded (not perfectly, but folded) in the basket. I swallow the question of where she folded them, I deny the desire to shake out the towels and redo them, and continue with my day. And I laugh - seriously, was I about to have a minor crises over the fact someone in the house immediately folded a load of laundry upon mother request?

I'm not gonna lie, it does take some concerted effort to not be an OCD freak parent. But so far, I'm really happy with the results. Not only has daughter been slightly more playful with me this week, but I find our conversations are improving in quality as well. Yesterday she teased me because she heard me burp (I didn't think it was that loud) and said Nice Burp. She has never done that before! I like it.

Day 3: Chips

It's been a long day. Six hours of sleep, took the late bus home, hungry...

Daughter is excited to see me, and runs into the kitchen.

"You're home!"
Hi daughter. How was school?
"Great!"
Tomorrow's the last day of school - (I say as I dip a corn chip into some guacamole)
"Yup!"
Are you having a party?
"No."
Oh, what are you doing for the last day of school?
*Shrug* "Don't know."
Are you cooking?
"Yes."
What are you cooking (I ask as I take a bite of chip)
"Chips."

Really, I ask myself? Really, you're cooking chips? Or are you just saying that because you're watching me eat chips? I'm tired. I Obsessively-compulsively want to know if she really IS making chips, or if she is just saying chips because she sees me eating chips.

But, since I am striving to reach a better me, I let it go. OK, I didn't let it go at first. FIRST, I asked daughter if she was really cooking chips, to which she replied No. That is the WORST - when she changes her answer. Now there is a 50-50 chance that she really IS making chips, or that she is just saying chips because she sees me eating chips, and now realizes that she was telling a lie. Although I'm not sure daughter is truly capable of telling a lie; more than likely, she doesn't really understand the question.

On the bright side, after the 50-50 answer, I really did just let it go. But I might send her teacher an email asking if they are cooking chips tomorrow...

Day 2: Shirt with stain

Today was blue plaid bermuda shorts, and a blue shirt with a small stain on the chest. I was pretty sleepy this morning, so I wasn't too concerned.

I didn't get to see daughter much today; I was a guest to a Jewel concert this evening so I missed seeing her besides our time together while I laid in a half-sleep stupor on the couch and she watched TV while waiting for the bus.

Yes, Jewel was AWESOME. Second row tickets. She is amazing - and she played lots of stuff from Pieces of You, a high school classic!

Day 1: I am not the fashion police

It was hard to get up this morning - the weekend was pretty tiring! As I slowly got up, I realized daughter was no where to be seen... did she oversleep? As I stood at the bottom of the stairs and began yelling for her, slowly it crept into my mind that I was on the Daughter Dare. Oh yeah. I heard her yell that she was up, and instead of demanding to see what she was wearing, I left the stairs and began my day.

I admit, I am the self-proclaimed fashion police of my home. It is the big fish in a small pond phenomenon; in the real world I don't stand out by any means as a Sex in the City fashionista or a Vogue trendsetter. But in my home, I know what NOT to wear, and I am as ruthless as Simon Cowell. It began with citations for flagrant violations - the daughter trying to wear sweatpants to school; putting on shirts that were too short because she had outgrown them; or wearing a sweatshirt when it was 80 degrees outside. But slowly, over time, it became more about color coordination. Or preventing daughter from wearing the same three shirts all month long. And things that were once passable became horrible, and I was sending the poor girl upstairs to change on a daily basis.

But I want to change. So today, when daughter came down in pink plaid bermuda shorts and her white and pick baseball jersey, with a black and white polka dotted tank top underneath, I smiled. Last week, the black and white polka dotted tank top would have been an instant pullover; but today - well really, who cares? I did make a swimsuit change - I am 99% sure the one she chose would be borderline obscene because of how much she's grown - but that is a good, just reason to impose my police power. Polka dots is similar to going five miles over the speed limit - an infraction, but who has time to deal with them?

And I admit, today daughter and I had some good rapport. We're off to a good start.