I never know what I'll encounter when I come home from work.
Some days, it's like a whirlwind has made it's way thru my living room, with games aplenty, popcorn, kids everywhere, and dishes in the sink. Laundry stacked and unfolded, and a chorus of "Mommy's home" to greet me. Mr W hiding out in our bedroom, just holding the fort. It alternately bugs me and charms me to see it.
Imagine my surprise, on Monday, when I came home, and things were relatively picked up. No chorus of "Mommy's home" although I got hugged ferociously by Ryan and Ben. I head down the hall, and peek in the bathroom as it sounds like Audrey is in the tub.
Nolan was giving her a bath. Cute! A Kodak moment. Mr W came around the corner, and was surprised to see me standing there taking it all in. I convinced the Princess to get out of the tub, and we put her new lotion on, and I got her dressed. (Sundress, turqoise polka-dots)
I'm in my bathroom, touching up as I'm heading out the door again, when she comes in and points at my shirt. "You need to change, Mommy."
"We don't match." Oh, fabulous. No, no, I don't want to do it. I don't want to match. Sometimes, we do match, by accident, that's ok. But....
Let me back up a minute. Years ago, one of my friends that was getting married had us wear these Laura Ashley cotton dresses. They were cute for her midmorning wedding, I felt very proper with my matching hat and gloves. While I was in the Laura Ashley store, picking up said dress, I looked around, and saw all the cute prints, and <gasp> matching Mother-daughter ensembles. Oooh, I daydreamed, wouldn't that be cute, to match my darling little girl's dress to mine? Wouldn't we be just so "tea and crumpets" dahling, as we went to church or something?
However, as I tried on said dress, I realized I am not built for that particular style of clothing. Nope. Although I did wear the dress a couple of more times, hoping to transform myself into a WASP-ier version of me, I came to realize that the two of us were not meant to be, and I gave it up. And realized that I don't want to match my darling daughter, should I ever have one. And now that I do have one...
I can't understand how some women do it. Maybe it's cute, on some level, and maybe I'm just getting old. It looks great in pictures, but it's just not me.
And here we are, just the other day--in match-land.
How do I disappoint a three yr old, so excited to match her Mom?
"Sweetie, I don't think I have that color, or at least that color clean, in my closet..." I begin to protest as she marches off in that direction.
She opens the closet door, and I'm so amused, I'm giggling. "There, Mommy," she says, pointing up, up, up to the top shelf of my closet. Oh. Yeah. I forgot I washed it.
On the top shelf, there sits my turqoise sweater. She knows my clothes, and where to find them, and knows her colors, too.
I put it on (it's not a heavy one) with the cami underneath like I always do.
"Now we're ready to go," she says to me, beaming.
I look up helplessly at Mr W, who is also quite amused by the exchange. He doesn't say it, but I know he's thinking "You wanted a girl."
I got a girl, alright. It appears she's a stylist-in-training. I could do worse. I mean, at least she's not colorblind, and I'm not wearing anything with a Barbie on it.