Emma and Matthew have both been asking me to get them some skinny jeans. I'm not a big fan of that look, but they have valiantly worn hundreds of Children's Place clearance rack outfits, and they deserved an update. Plus, I know what it's like to want to be like the "cool kids." So I packed everyone up and we headed to the mall. We found ourselves in Tillys, (see photo above for an idea of what kind of gems you'll find in the store.) and I tried in vain to navigate the racks with stroller, diaper bag, and wiggly baby and toddler in tow. Literally, I could not get my whole gaggle to the back of the store where I needed to be. So I stranded my stroller in a random spot towards the front of the store and dragged all the kiddies to the back. If that wasn't enough of a spectacle, at that point Nathan arrived to help me out. He walked into the store and rhetorically asked everyone in earshot "WHY ARE WE SHOPPING HERE???" I guess I hadn't made him aware of my mission to help the kids up their cool quotient.
In the end, I think I was succesful. And if the skinny jeans didn't do it, I"m sure the family shopping trip did the trick.
Tillys aside, what am I supposed to do with these pwe-tween kids? It's so much less complicated to care for a baby. I know how to change diapers and hug squishy tummies. It's these gangly limbs and complicated emotions I don't know what to do with.
2 comments:
Oh, Mel, Amen. I remember these years so well. And everything a Mom does or says is wrong. And dragging all the "Duggers" along is mortifying to the older kids. Plus my younger ones used to think the store was their own personal jungle gym and hiding place. They'd hide under the round racks and chase each other. It's so much easier when they don't care what they wear and you can put them in whatever you choose.
Sure love you,
MOM
At my Great-Aunt Ellen's funeral, her oldest son recalled how bad he felt after the first day of school one year because he didn't have colored socks to match his shirt like all the other boys (this was sometime in the 1950s). He then fondly recounted how, the next day when he got home, four new shirts with matching socks were waiting for him. He was so grateful to his mother.
I fully expect to hear such a story from your children at your funeral (okay--maybe their weddings) in a bazillion years.
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